


To Get Back Up

by messageredacted



Series: Why We Fall [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Earth-3 (Crime Syndicate Universe), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 87,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after the events of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/320268/chapters/515008">Why We Fall</a>, Batman and the Jokester find a way back to Earth-3, and on the way come across a few old friends…and enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 6 June 2010.

The whole apartment shook when the monorail ran overhead, causing the fan to rattle and the ice in the bowl to clink together like a cocktail. Bruce reached out absently and nudged the bowl of ice closer to the fan, then settled back in his chair, his attention fixed on the reports in his hand.

A door slammed down the hall. Bruce lifted his head and blinked at the far wall, trying to refocus his eyes. He pushed thoughts of earnings reports out of his head.

“Hello,” he called as the fridge opened in the kitchen.

Jackie appeared in the doorway a moment later, holding a gel ice pack in his hand. “Hi,” he replied, limping towards the other chair. He eased himself down, propping his leg up on the coffee table, and hooked his cane over the arm of the chair.

“Sore?” Bruce asked, watching him arrange the ice pack on his knee.

“Mm.” Jackie settled it to his liking and leaned back in the chair. “And because it’s really fucking hot out.”

Bruce tossed the earnings reports down on the coffee table and went into the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. Jackie took it dutifully and swallowed two aspirin down, then snagged the front of Bruce’s shirt and tugged him down for a kiss.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing a shirt in this heat,” Jackie said when their lips parted.

Bruce grinned against his lips. “I was doing work. I feel weird doing work shirtless.”

“Maybe I’ll hire you.” Jackie kissed him again. “I’ll break you of that habit first thing.”

Bruce straightened up and grabbed the edges of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. “I’m on a coffee break right now,” he said, tossing the shirt onto the other chair.

His chest was slick with sweat. Even after six months of recovery from being shot, he still had muscle definition, which just showed how incredibly fit he had been as Batman. The scar was a small purple star slicing one of his abs in two.

He leaned down again and pressed their mouths together. Jackie grabbed the belt loop in his pants and tugged him closer, his tongue slipping between Bruce’s teeth. Bruce met it with his own and then gasped when Jackie ran his fingernails lightly up Bruce’s chest to his nipple. His cock, which had been slowly taking an interest in the proceedings, leapt to attention.

“See?” Jackie said lazily. “It improves workplace performance. We should put it on a motivational poster.” He grinned and then shoved his ice pack into Bruce’s groin. “Hold that for me.”

Bruce grabbed it, wincing, and then stepped back as Jackie heaved his leg off the coffee table and struggled up to his feet. He grabbed his cane.

“Bedroom?” Bruce suggested.

“Lead the way.”

Bruce went out the living room door to the short hallway beyond. The first door in the hallway was closed and locked. Bruce brushed past it without looking at it, which was something that he had gotten good at in the two months they had been living here. He reached their bedroom door and flipped the switch for the ceiling fan.

The room was dark, blinds closed over the open window. The bed was messily made. The fan started to revolve slowly, stirring the air in the room. Jackie came up next to Bruce in the doorway. He kissed Bruce on the shoulder.

“I want to fuck you,” he murmured in Bruce’s ear, then squeezed past him and went to the bed.

Bruce pulled out the drawer in the bedside table and took out the condoms and a bottle of lube. Jackie sat down on the edge of the bed and peeled off his own shirt with a sigh of relief. A slice of sunlight came through one broken blind in the window, falling across his side. The scar on his lower belly was slowly fading into his skin. Bruce stopped in front of him, his knees bumping against Jackie’s. Jackie tilted up his head to look at him, a smile nudging at the corner of his mouth. The scars on his cheeks tucked themselves into his smile lines.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” Bruce said.

The smile turned into a wry smirk. “Thanks,” Jackie drawled in the tone of someone who didn’t believe a word of it but was glad to hear it anyway. He reached out and tugged at the button on the front of Bruce’s pants. Bruce helped him unzip his pants and pull them down, letting them drop to the floor with his boxers. His cock was standing at attention, purple and swollen against his belly.

“You’re beautiful too,” Jackie said to Bruce’s cock, leaning forward and planting a kiss on the tip. Bruce hissed when Jackie took the tip in his mouth, swirling his tongue underneath the head.

“Jackie,” he said in warning after a moment, his voice hitching, and Jackie pulled back.

“Not time yet,” Jackie said with a grin. “Sorry.”

Bruce reached out and shoved Jackie onto his back on the bed. Jackie bounced once, laughing. Bruce grabbed the waistband of the sweatpants that Jackie had worn to his physical therapy appointment and tugged them down. Jackie lifted his hips to help, kicking off his shoes. Bruce tossed the pants away. Jackie propped himself up on his elbows and grabbed for the condom, starting to unwrap it.

Bruce leaned down, his hands on Jackie’s thighs, and took Jackie’s cock into his mouth as far as he could, licking up the length of him. Jackie arched his back, pushing up. Bruce let it slip from his mouth with an obscene pop and then took the condom from Jackie’s limp fingers, standing up again. He unrolled it down the length of Jackie’s cock in one smooth, practiced move, then wrapped his fingers around Jackie’s cock and gave him another lazy stroke, looking down at him.

“Remember—how it’s not time yet?” Jackie gasped out, writhing.

“I think you did say something about that, yeah,” Bruce said, rubbing his thumb over the tip of Jackie’s cock. He shifted forward, nudging Jackie’s legs apart, his knees bumping the mattress, his cock sliding against Jackie’s. Jackie squirted a generous amount of lubricant from the bottle into his palm, then reached down and grabbed both their cocks together in his hand, stroking up to slick them both. Bruce made a sound of approval in his throat, pushing forward into Jackie’s fist.

Jackie sat up, hooking his good leg around the back of Bruce’s knee. The change in position rubbed their cocks together. Bruce grabbed his head in both hands and pulled him forward for a harsh kiss, trapping their erections and Jackie’s working fist between their stomachs. They were both breathing quickly into each other’s mouths.

“Okay, okay,” Bruce said. “I can’t last much longer.”

Jackie let go of them both and scooted back on the bed, favoring his knee. Bruce crawled up onto the bed with him, his cock angrily protesting the sudden lack of attention. He dropped down onto his side next to Jackie. Jackie squirted more lube onto his hand.

Jackie leaned in and kissed him, then pushed him onto his back. He crawled on top of Bruce and settled between Bruce’s thighs, most of his weight on his good knee. Bruce wrapped his legs around Jackie’s hips. Jackie leaned down, chest-to-chest, and kissed the corner of Bruce’s mouth. His other hand slid between Bruce’s thighs and gave his balls a quick squeeze, then moved further back to toy with the tight ring of muscle there.

“You don’t have to be so careful with me,” Bruce whispered when Jackie’s index finger slipped inside to the first knuckle. Jackie kissed his mouth again and added a second finger, working them slowly inside. Bruce let his breath hiss out at the stretch.

It had taken a lot longer the first time they’d done this, two months ago when they first moved into this apartment. Now Jackie’s two fingers quickly sank into the base and he quirked them. Bruce gasped when pleasure jerked in his stomach.

“There it is,” Jackie said in a quiet singsong, bending his fingers again. He rubbed his thumb gently against Bruce’s perineum.

“I’m ready,” Bruce said, urging him on with a squeeze of his thighs. “Go on.”

Jackie withdrew his fingers and then shifted to get the right angle. The head of his cock bumped against Bruce and then he began to push. Bruce felt his body opening up, letting Jackie inside. He lifted his hips, helping Jackie slide home. Jackie sank in to the hilt and stopped.

“Come on, move,” Bruce whispered, hitching his hips. Jackie pulled out slowly and then pushed in all the way again. He moved into a slow rhythm, giving it to Bruce in long strokes. It was hot in the room and sweat streaked their chests, pooling where their flesh touched. Bruce’s thigh slipped against Jackie’s hip. He pushed up to meet Jackie’s thrust, his breath hitching a little when Jackie bottomed out inside him. Bruce reached up and curled his fingers in Jackie’s sweaty hair, tugging him down and kissing him hard.

Jackie shifted his weight and then started thrusting a little faster, moving in and out with a steady pulse. The bed creaked. Bruce dragged his knees up to let Jackie go deeper, clutching Jackie against him. His cock was weeping against his stomach and each thrust was rubbing something inside of him, pushing him closer and closer. He urged Jackie on faster, his breath hitching.

“Shit, Bruce,” Jackie whispered, his grip slipping on Bruce’s hip. He slammed into him a little harder, his stomach muscles quivering.

Bruce grabbed hold of them and then rolled them both over, pushing Jackie onto his back and straddling his hips. He brought himself down hard on Jackie, planting his hands in the bedsheets and ramming back into his cock. Jackie thrust up into him, heels and elbows digging into the bed, gasping open-mouthed. He let out a wordless noise, his eyes squeezing shut. Bruce rode him hard, making the headboard slam the wall until Jackie reached down between them and took hold of Bruce’s cock, pumping it quickly in his fist. Bruce grunted, thrusting forward into the tight grip around him as Jackie pushed up inside him. Jackie had lost all rhythm, his breath coming ragged, his free hand digging furrows into Bruce’s biceps.

Bruce hit the edge and went over, feeling himself erupt messily in Jackie’s hand. He forced himself down on Jackie’s cock again and again, his breath caught in his throat, until finally he sank down and stopped, shuddering, sucking in air. Jackie was catching his breath underneath him, his eyes flicking open. They kissed messily, catching their breath.

Bruce lifted himself up off of Jackie with a wince, then dropped down onto the bed next to him, rolling on his back. The air from the fan was quickly cooling the mess on his stomach. He closed his eyes and listened to his heartbeat start to slow down.

“I think we should do that a little more often,” Jackie mumbled, sounding exhausted. “Like maybe in an hour or so.”

“You did say you were going to hire me,” Bruce answered, licking his lips. “You could schedule more frequent coffee breaks.”

Jackie snorted. The china rattled faintly in the cupboards as another monorail went by. Out the window, a pigeon cooed softly.

“Isn’t Ramirez coming by later?” Jackie suddenly sounded a little more awake. Bruce opened his eyes.

“Crap,” he groaned. “She is. What time is it?”

Jackie fumbled to sit up, reaching for the alarm clock. “Two thirty.”

“I think she said she’d be here at three.” Bruce sat up too, grimacing down at the mess they’d made of the bed.

“If we shower together, we’ll save time,” Jackie said thoughtfully.

“Cold shower,” Bruce said. “Cold, cold, frigid shower.”

Jackie’s eyes lit up. “God, yes,” he said. They scrambled for the bathroom.

##

Ramirez was ten minutes late, which was average for her and gave Bruce some time to strip the sheets from the bed and put on new ones. By the time she knocked, Bruce was back in the living room with his earnings report and Jackie had cracked open the laptop at the corner desk to read through the designs the Research & Development team had emailed him.

“You don’t get paid enough for an air conditioner?” Ramirez asked, dropping a bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter. “It’s like a sauna in here.”

“We’re saving up,” Jackie said cheerfully, maneuvering over to the counter with his cane. He grabbed the receipt from the counter where Ramirez had put it and then winced. “If only we didn’t have to eat.”

“I’ll give up eating for an air conditioner,” Bruce said, coming into the kitchen as well. “People can live three months without food, right? The heat wave can’t last that long.”

“It’s only June,” Ramirez said wryly, taking boxes and bottles out of the paper bag. She must have gotten off work a lot earlier because she was in cargo shorts and a tank top, her dark hair tied back in a knot. She emptied a bag completely and folded it up.

Jackie emptied another bag, piling a carton of eggs, a zucchini the size of a baseball bat and a box of condoms on the counter. Bruce raised his eyebrows at the box of condoms.

“Wait, condoms? You bought condoms?” he asked.

“It was on the list.” Ramirez shrugged.

“You put condoms on the list?” Bruce asked Jackie in faint horror.

“We were running low,” Jackie said, obviously enjoying the look on his face.

“It’s not like I didn’t already know,” Ramirez said. “What you guys do is your business. Just please tell me the only thing you’re going to do with that zucchini is eat it.”

Jackie snorted in hilarity and Bruce rolled his eyes, turning away. Ramirez was grinning, folding up the final empty paper bag. She and Jackie caught each other’s gaze and then burst into giggles.

“Let me get some money,” Bruce said, heading into the bedroom.

When he returned, Jackie and Ramirez had put all of the groceries away and Jackie was twisting ice cubes from a plastic tray into a couple glasses of water. Ramirez leaned against the counter, looking as if she were melting in the heat.

“How’s physical therapy going?” she asked Jackie.

Jackie gave her a sour look. “The same.”

“That bad, huh? Thanks.” She accepted the glass from him and took a drink.

“They’re talking about surgery.” Jackie pushed the other glass towards Bruce as he rejoined them.

“Shit, really?”

“They tried everything they could to fix it with physical therapy,” Bruce said, handing Ramirez a couple twenty-dollar bills. “But it was damaged too badly.”

“Health insurance won’t cover it because it’s a pre-existing condition,” Jackie added.

Ramirez winced. “Wow. I’m sorry. Look, if you need to spend more time saving money, you can always move back in with me. It wasn’t a problem.”

“Thanks, but we really want to try to stay here,” Bruce said. “You were a really big help to us. We don’t want to have to keep relying on you.”

Ramirez shrugged. “I didn’t just want you to stay there to help you guys. It helped me too, when I was in that wheelchair. I don’t know how I would have dealt with that on my own. I owe you guys for that.”

“We’ll figure out some sort of solution,” Bruce said. “Maybe I’ll ask for a raise at work. For now, that ice in a bowl in front of the fan trick actually kind of works.”

“Guys, it’s like a hundred degrees in here. You need to get out of here and go somewhere cool. Maybe you could wear masks or something.” Her voice faltered slightly when she realized what she’d said. “Ah, you know. So no one recognizes you.”

“Maybe,” Jackie said magnanimously, ignoring her slip. He picked up the glass of water and went around the counter, heading into the living room. “Let’s sit in front of this ingenious invention of Bruce’s. Maybe R&D will want to hear about it.”

Ramirez and Bruce followed. The ice in the bowl had melted into a puddle of water that was doing nothing for the temperature in the room. Out the window, the struts of the monorail tracks rose up out of sight. They were in a third floor apartment in a building with an actual elevator, which had been a necessity when they were looking to rent, since Jackie could only manage a couple steps and Bruce was only marginally better. It was surprising how many things stomach muscles were used for.

Ramirez settled in the chair by the window, crossing one ankle over the other knee and settling her glass of water on her stomach. “So I assume you saw the news? We caught that guy who had killed three elderly women in uptown?”

“I saw,” Bruce said seriously, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “How did it go?”

“You should have been there. He had holed up in a warehouse in the Narrows and rigged it up with traps in all the entrances. The team got in through the south entrance, disabled the traps and completely surrounded him before he even knew we were there. He tried to trigger the place to detonate and it just didn’t work. The look on his face…” She shook her head. “We were like ghosts, Bruce. You’ve trained us well.”

Bruce nodded shortly. “You were good students. Just be careful.”

“You know, I think some good has come out of this whole thing,” Ramirez said thoughtfully. “Mayor Aggison really got behind having Wayne Enterprises train the police force. I mean, if he knew Batman himself was training us, he might be a little iffy, but just taking this step is admirable. Mayor Silvestri would never have done something like this. I don’t even think Mayor Garcia would have gotten behind it. They were both too involved with how things looked to the public, rather than what was actually good for the city.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s repairing Wayne Enterprises’s reputation too, having them pay reparations by training the police force for free. I just wish Gotham could pay you back more than just your token salaries from Wayne Enterprises.”

“A bigger salary for two R&D drones would be suspicious,” Bruce said. “I understand Lucius’s need to be discreet. And you really have done a lot for us. I wouldn’t have expected the number of doctors and physical therapists you’ve gotten to look the other way for us.”

“It just doesn’t seem like it’s enough.” Ramirez frowned at her water. “They still think you two are Owlman and the Joker. They don’t even know what you two did to help us.”

“It’s fine,” Jackie said. “You saved our lives. That counts for something.” He grabbed the ice pack from the floor where it had been abandoned and resettled it on his knee.

Ramirez put her glass down on the coffee table. “Well, let me know if you need anything else. I have to go pick up my nephew from daycare.” She got to her feet, stretching. “I have an air conditioner in my apartment, in case you’ve forgotten. Maybe you should come over for dinner tonight.”

“Ooh, Bruce, can we?” Jackie said eagerly.

“Pizza and beer and air conditioning,” Ramirez said to Bruce with a grin. “I think there’s a baseball game on tonight.”

“Sounds great,” Bruce said, getting up as well. “We’ll pay for the pizza this time.”

Ramirez led Bruce back into the short hallway by the kitchen. At the doorway, she glanced back at him.

“You look troubled,” she said.

“Do you think Gotham is doing well? Seriously?” Bruce asked her, his brow furrowed.

“I think Gotham is going to make it,” she said to him softly, her hand on the doorknob. “Will Batman ever make an appearance again?”

“Gotham doesn’t need Batman anymore.” Bruce stared at her with dark eyes.

She smiled a little sadly and glanced past Bruce to where Jackie sat in the living room. “You know, I think Batman doesn’t need Gotham anymore, either.”

“See you tonight.” Bruce returned her smile. Ramirez slipped out into the hall and Bruce locked the door behind her.

##

The prow of the freighter cut through the waves, sending lacy streamers of foam out in a V behind it. The Zodiac bounced in the wake, motoring towards the freighter with a single-minded focus.

“They’ve spotted us,” Peters muttered, holding the binocular to his eyes.

Lois Lane leaned back in her seat, feeling the wind whipping her hair to a fine froth. The sun beat down on the boat, keeping her bare shoulders warm despite the wind. “Is it a problem?”

“No, ma’am.” Peters lowered the binoculars.

Three more Zodiacs fanned out behind them. Lois tipped back her head to glance at them. Grim faced men with semi automatics sat in the boats. They were the best lackeys money could buy, according to Ultraman, but Lois had her doubts. For one thing, they didn’t seem to see her as dangerous.

Up on the deck of the freighter, people moved in ant-like panic, scurrying to all corners of the ship. A loudspeaker blared out at them as someone told them to change their course immediately or their approach would be seen as a threat. Lois sat up with a stretch and then leaned forward, grabbing the semi automatic at her feet. She lifted it up, sighting lazily along the deck where a few men were looking out at them. She squeezed the trigger, spraying a quick burst of bullets in their direction.

Peters ducked and the Zodiac swerved a little. He looked over his shoulder at her with wide eyes.

“Do you think they saw that as a threat?” Lois asked, lowering the gun.

He didn’t answer, swallowing. The Zodiacs were nearly at the freighter now and the men behind her were raising grappling guns. She heard the pop of CO2 cartridges shooting grapples all the way up to the railing at the deck a hundred feet above them.

She slung the strap of her semi-automatic over her shoulder and then took out her own grappling gun, hooking one end to her harness. “See you on the boat,” she said to Peters, aiming up.

The grappling gun winched her up the side of the boat speedily. She held her feet out, half-walking, half being pulled up the side of the boat until she reached the railing. A few of her lackeys had already reached the deck and were exchanging gunfire with the crew.

Below, the Zodiacs motored away, heading back to the ship they’d come on. It would be pulling up soon, in time to take the payload. By then, Lois and her lackeys should have everyone subdued.

Lois planted both of her feet on the side of the freighter and pulled the semi-automatic off her shoulders. The grappling gun and harness held her weight as she squinted through the railing at the crew.

A few crew members had taken cover behind a bulkhead. Two of them were sprawled on the deck, dead. Her lackeys coolly squeezed off more gunfire in their direction. Lois switched her gun to single shot and then sighted down on the men behind the bulkhead. The second someone popped his head up to fire, she let out a shot. Blood burst all over the bulkhead.

“Cover me,” she said, hitting the switch on her grappling gun. It jerked her up the rest of the way and she swung a leg over the railing. The lackeys nearest her nodded and sprayed covering fire over the bulkhead, keeping the crew ducking well out of sight as Lois released herself from her harness.

“You, with me,” she added, pointing at two of the lackeys. She didn’t wait for them to release themselves from their harnesses. She started down the deck to the rear access door, listening to them struggle to follow her.

Footsteps thudded the other side of the deck, rounding a pile of shipping containers. Lois raised her gun and ducked against a shipping container, flipping the gun to a three-shot. As soon as the first two rounded the corner, she pulled the trigger, sending a quick burst into them. The third crew member managed to catch himself before coming around the corner. Lois took two quick, silent steps to the corner of the shipping container and then dropped down to a crouch. She swung around the corner, pulling the trigger as she dragged the gun up. Three men fell under the onslaught.

The two lackeys caught up to her. Lois didn’t look back. “Come on,” she said, heading to the rear access door. She yanked it open, using the door to shield herself as she peered down the stairs. A man down the stairs caught a glimpse of her and then retreated.

“You first,” Lois said, urging one of the lackeys forward. He started down the stairs, gun up. She came in behind him, letting the other lackey take the rear.

They moved quickly down the stairs. The lackey ahead of her, a broad-shouldered man with sandy blond hair that Lois was beginning to think of as the Giant for his nearly seven foot height, stuck his arm around the curve in the stairs and sprayed bullets without looking, then edged around the corner to take a glance. A bullet pinged off the steel wall behind him. Frowning, he let out another few shots, then started forward again. Lois followed.

Two corpses were sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. One of them was still choking out the last of his life. Lois stepped over him.

The hallway was short and at the end of it was a steel door. The Giant tried the door handle but it was locked.

“Got it,” said the other lackey, who Lois was going to call Fanny Pack for what he was wearing around his waist. He took a length of plastique from his fanny pack and pressed it gently to the door around the lock.

Giant took Lois’s arm, urging her back towards the stairwell. She shot a look at his hand and he immediately let go. Raising her eyebrows, she headed back to the stairwell, climbing up to the curve in the stairs. The door at the top was still closed. She trained her gun on it and waited.

Fanny Pack joined them after a moment and then hit the detonator. A loud bang echoed down the hallway. Fanny Pack retreated.

“It’s open,” he called.

Giant and Lois followed him. The door was hanging open, the metal cherry red in places. A narrow stairway led down. Fanny Pack went first down the stairs. Giant waited for Lois to go ahead of him.

The stairs let out into a large room. Fanny Pack emptied his gun into a group of people out of sight. Lois followed, stepping out into the room as Fanny Pack reloaded.

The room here was one of the storage rooms in the freighter. Shipping containers were stacked in neat piles all around the room, with narrow walkways in between. The far end of the room was a giant door that could open up when the freighter was docked, allowing the ship to be unloaded.

A few more corpses were piled in the narrow hallway by the door. Fanny Pack climbed over them, then reached the end of a row of shipping containers and turned right. Lois and Giant followed, Giant walking backwards as he covered their rear.

The crate they were looking for was at the end of the row. The crate was painted dull green and marked U.S. Army. Fanny Pack stopped next to it, glancing at the padlock.

“I can take care of that,” he said, and then staggered forward as a shot hit him in the back of the head. He slumped, his blood painting the door of the crate. Lois whirled, letting off shots down a walkway. Two crew members ducked out of sight.

Giant started down the walkways towards them, firing in their direction. Lois cut down the next aisle and ran down to the end. One of the crew members came around the corner and she cut him in half with a spray of bullets, then paused as she heard Giant exchange fire with the other crew member.

She stepped around the corner, sighting on the crew member’s back. She opened fire into him and then returned down the aisle to the shipping crate.

 _The boat is in place_ , crackled a voice in her ear piece. She squatted down next to Fanny Pack and pulled some plastique out of his pack. Giant rejoined her.

“Have you used that before?” he asked, his voice guarded.

“Sure,” she said offhandedly, standing up and letting her gun swing free on its strap. She pressed plastique to the door.

“There’s a bomb in there,” Giant said.

“I’m aware.” She found herself starting to smile. Giant looked uneasy. She buried the detonator into the plastique and then retreated.

“You might want to step back,” she said. There was a rim of white around Giant’s eyes. He retreated with her, all the way to the end of the aisle. Lois pressed the detonator.

The bang echoed in the small space. Lois waited, her breath held, but there was no immediate holocaust, no searing of her body into ash. Her head was buzzing pleasantly. She moved forward again.

The shipping crate was open. Inside, it was nearly empty except for a row of small, round explosives, each with enough power to take out roughly a square mile of civilization. There were eight in total, all connected in a row the size of a fire extinguisher. It was packaged carefully in a metal crate filled with molded foam rubber. Lois lifted it out like she was cradling a baby.

“I have it,” she said into the ear piece.

 _Good job_ , Ultraman whispered in her ear. _This will take care of all our problems._


	2. Chapter 2

When the riot squads came, Three Face was the one who threw the first rock.

The streets were thick with people, more people than Three Face had expected to show up to the event, especially in this kind of summer heat. Probably it had something to do with the victims this time; a group of schoolchildren had had their bus driven off the road by a few lackeys of the Crime Society of America, who then dragged the bus driver out by her hair and disemboweled her and finally set the bus on fire to prove a point. Sixty children had died. It turned out that the bus driver’s cousin had fallen behind in protection payments to the CSA.

“We are not going to bend over for the Crime Society anymore!” Three Face screamed into the megaphone, pacing on the front steps of the Gotham Library, which she was using for an impromptu stage. She could feel the makeup on her face streaking with her sweat. “We are not going to let them get away with this yet again! We are not going to keep paying them, just so we can see them murder our children!”

The crowd roared. She dragged her gaze over the crowd, picking out angry faces. Some people were holding signs that said things like NO MORE CSA and OUR EYES ARE OPEN. People were passing around Xeroxed fliers with the children’s faces on them.

Three Face bounced up a few more steps, pumping her left arm in the air. The metal of the prosthetic creaked. “They don’t have the kind of power to hold us all down at once!”

 _Looks like we got their attention_ , said the earpiece in her ear.

The riot police were arriving, lights flashing. They were piling out of vans with plexiglass shields in place. People were turning towards them, shouting unintelligibly. A police megaphone called thinly from down the street.

“Please disperse immediately. This is an illegal gathering. Please leave now,” called the voice.

“We are not going to listen to a government that works for the CSA!” Three Face shouted back, and the people in the street screamed their approval, surging towards the police. Three Face jumped down the steps and shouldered her way through the crowd, heading for the line of police. She could see curious faces peering out of the windows of apartment buildings, watching them, too afraid to come out and join in.

With a whump, the first gun fired a tear gas canister into the crowd. Three Face scooped up a crumbled chunk of concrete and flung it at the police. It smashed off a shield and spun away.

The crowd slammed angrily into the line of police, shouting. The police shoved back. The noise of the police megaphone was lost under the roar of the crowd, and it was only from the way the crowd stopped shoving forward and started retreating that Three Face realized that the police were firing real bullets into the crowd. People began to pull away, stampeding over each other to get out of the line of fire.

Three Face felt herself shoved into the wall of a building by the panicked people. She squeezed into the doorway of a barber shop, flattening her back to the door, and watched people claw over each other to get out of the way of the advancing police. The police kept coming, faces blank behind riot masks.

“They’re shooting on the crowd,” she said into the earpiece, stepping back as two more people crowded into the doorway. A boy of about ten backed into her, his eyes wide.

 _Now it’ll make the evening news_ , replied the voice in her ear.

“I thought it would take more than that to provoke them.”

 _What a tragedy_. The voice sounded a little amused. _Don’t worry, it’ll work out._

Three Face tried the door of the barber shop but it was locked. She saw an old man inside peering out at her.

“Let us in!” she shouted. He shook his head.

“You brought it on yourself,” he shouted back. She slammed her shoulder into the glass of the window but it didn’t break.

Three Face pushed the boy behind her and then crouched down as the police moved past, firing indiscriminately into the crowd. The blank apartment buildings on both sides of the street echoed back the noise, making the scene seem small and inconsequential.

“This is supposed to make the people _angry_ ,” Three Face said out loud in disappointment. The voice in her ear doesn’t respond.

##

The lower floors of Wayne Enterprises had a number of small, discreet meeting rooms for the sorts of clients who didn’t rank a meeting in the extravagant conference rooms on the upper floors. The room had frosted glass windows and subtle charcoal and gray furniture. Cool air ghosted out of the vents in the ceiling.

Lucius Fox looked perfectly in his element at the end of the small conference table, his hands clasped on the smooth blond wood. It looked as if the architect had designed the room around him. Bruce had told Jackie that Lucius was working a dead end job in R&D when Bruce met him, but Jackie couldn’t quite imagine that.

Next to him sat a man who actually did work in R&D and who looked the part. He had wire frame glasses and thinning hair and an overenthusiastic nose. As soon as he sat down, he took out a spiral bound notebook and flipped it open to a page covered in scribbled notes.

“So what is this good news you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” Bruce asked, raising his eyebrows at Lucius and the scientist.

“We may have found a solution to your problem,” Lucius said, shifting his gaze evenly between Bruce and Jackie. “Dr. Wallace informs me that they’ve had a breakthrough in their work on alternate realities.”

Dr. Wallace bobbed his head. “Yes, indeed. We’ve been working hard on this one, let me tell you. It’s brain-bending stuff.” He grinned at Bruce and Jackie. The lenses in his glasses made his eyes look very tiny.

“A breakthrough?” Bruce said, his eyebrows shooting up.

“It’s more of a theoretical, ah, justification,” Dr. Wallace said. “We figured out that there is no reason why it shouldn’t work, but we haven’t tried it yet.”

“Why not?” Jackie asked cautiously.

“Because we need you to test it.” Dr. Wallace flipped a couple pages back in his notebook. “Let me explain. Our theories have to do with the nature of alternate universes. The idea has been around for a long time, but the theory that we’ve been working with can be best summarized by a short story written by Borges called ‘The Library of Babel.’ Have either of you read it?”

Bruce and Jackie both shook their heads mutely. Dr. Wallace bobbed his head again, looking vaguely like a pigeon.

“The idea in the story is that there is a library filled with books. Each book is exactly the same size and shape and length as all the others, and has the same number of characters--and by characters I mean letters, punctuation, and spaces. With me so far?”

“Yes,” Bruce said.

“But no two books in the library are exactly alike. Each book has a slightly different combination of characters. For example, one book might be filled entirely with the letter A, and another book might be nearly identical except one of the As is missing and there is a space instead. And another book might have that one space in a different position. Do you understand?”

“So you’re saying the books have every possible combination of characters,” Jackie said.

“Right,” Dr. Wallace said, pointing a finger at Jackie. “Which means that every single book that has ever been written is in that library, as well as every book that could ever be written, and every translation of all of those books into every possible language that might use that alphabet. The library contains the exact account of your life and death, as well as countless false versions.”

“I’m sure this has something to do with alternate realities,” Bruce said.

“Yes. It does. Because instead of books, we’re talking universes.” Dr. Wallace stopped pointing at Jackie and pointed at Bruce instead. “Instead of characters, we’re talking atoms. You might describe our alphabet as made up of electrons and protons. Ultimately, it’s the same idea. We theorize that there are a massive number of these universes, each one slightly different from the next. In some, things might seem very similar, but there are some fundamental changes.” He gestured towards Jackie. “The number of possible universes is so large it could be described as infinite. Every possible permutation of history is represented in these universes, as well as an infinite number that would be nearly indistinguishable from ours because the differences are too small to detect. There are an infinite number of universes where we’re having this conversation right now, or a conversation very much like it.”

“Then how would we be able to move from one to the other?” Bruce asked, waving away a sense of déjà vu.

“We’d need to find the one you’re looking for, first. We’d need something like a card catalogue, so to speak. Of course, a card catalogue would need to be infinitely huge to be able to keep track of all of these possible universes.”

“Is that even possible?”

“It has to be,” Dr. Wallace said emphatically. “These universes cover every possible combination, right? We can assume that one universe might be a universe sized computer that solely works to keep track of all the other universes.”

“Along with an infinite number of fake computers, right?” Bruce asked.

“Well, yeah. But the important thing is that this particular universe exists, and we can assume that it wants to keep everything in its proper place, as it were. The next thing we’d need to cover would be how to travel there, since any sort of travel across an infinite distance would require an infinite amount of energy. But again, assume that there is a universe that solely consists of that type of energy.”

“This sounds like a lot of assumptions,” Jackie said.

“It is,” Dr. Wallace admitted. “And we would have no way of ever proving this is all true, except for one fact. You. We know that alternate universes exist and that travel between them is possible because you are here.”

“So we know it works because it has to?” Bruce said doubtfully.

“More or less. All we need now is some sort of way to start the process, some sort of device that, when triggered, would take you from one universe to the other. That was where we had our breakthrough, when we realized that we could just use Higgs boson particles, which have been theorized to travel through time.” He paused, seeing the expressions on their faces. “Well, it’s complicated, but ultimately we realized we could imbue an object with similar properties. In order to travel through time, you need to take yourself out of the timestream of this universe, and to travel across universes, you’re going to have to do pretty much the same thing. We had read in your report that the past travel was accomplished with a ring, which is actually a beautifully simple idea. If we just made an object capable of traveling between universes, there would be no stopping it. It wouldn’t have an on and off switch. However, a ring would solve that problem. Putting your finger in the ring would just complete the circuit and trigger the event.”

“How would it get us to the right place?”

“Remember our card catalogue? Assuming that it wants to keep everything in its proper place, we could just give the ring to Mr.…uh…”

“Jackie’s fine,” Jackie said.

“Give the ring to Jackie and when he puts it on, it takes him to where he’s supposed to be. For you to travel with him, you would need to make sure to be physically joined.”

“Physically…?” Jackie said slowly.

“Like linking arms,” Dr. Wallace said with a shrug.

Jackie swallowed a laugh, feeling Bruce shooting him a look. “I see.”

“To get back, you would just need to do the opposite. Mr. Wayne would need to wear it to bring you both back. Just make sure to always travel together, because once you’re separated, there would be no coming back.”

“How did the others get here in the first place?” Bruce asked.

“Well, I think Jackie’s world is a little more technologically advanced,” Dr. Wallace said ruefully. “We haven’t gotten that far yet, but at least we know it’s possible.”

“When do you think we could test it?”

Dr. Wallace rummaged around in his pocket. “Whenever you want,” he said, setting a stainless steel ring on the table.

It was a man’s ring and polished to a high shine. Someone had rather optimistically engraved it with the words _sic itur ad astra_ , ‘thus you shall go to the stars’.

“It does nothing when someone of this world puts it on,” Dr. Wallace said. “The only way we can tell if it works is if Jackie puts it on.”

Bruce reached out and picked it up, weighing it in his hand. He glanced at Jackie.

“Not yet,” Jackie said, not meeting his gaze. “We need to…pack…”

Dr. Wallace looked slightly disappointed. “Well, whenever you decide to try it out, just drop us a line and let us know how it goes.”

Bruce reached across the table. “Thank you, Dr. Wallace.”

Dr. Wallace shook his hand firmly. “You’re welcome. Please, it was a pleasure working on this project. And really, do try to let us know if it works.”

“Absolutely.” Bruce pushed back his chair and everyone rose.

“Thank you, Dr. Wallace,” Lucius said. The scientist bobbed his head and gathered up his notebook, heading out of the room.

“Are you going to try it?” Lucius asked Bruce with an arched eyebrow.

Bruce glanced at Jackie. “I’m not sure yet.”

Lucius smiled. “There was a time when you wouldn’t hesitate. I’m not so sure that this isn’t an improvement.” He inclined his head to Jackie. “Best of luck if you do try it. I’d hate to lose my prize employees.”

“If it works, we can always come back,” Bruce said. “Thank you so much for working on this for us.”

“My pleasure.” Lucius gestured for Bruce and Jackie to go ahead of him, and they headed out the door.

##

Back outside, the heat was sweltering. Bruce’s motorcycle cut down the city streets. The wind that blew over them was thick with car exhaust and frying foods from street vendors. People sat under umbrellas at sidewalk tables, eating lunch.

“If we go, I’ll have to think of something to do with this motorcycle,” Bruce called over his shoulder, turning onto their street. Jackie didn’t answer him. Bruce pulled them into their parking spot, which only hadn’t been taken because it was too small for a car, and shut off the bike. They climbed off and headed into the building.

When Bruce hit the button for the elevator, Jackie pulled off his motorcycle helmet. The foyer was empty. He shook out sweaty hair.

“So what’s wrong with this plan?” Bruce asked, staring at their reflections in the doors of the elevator. He pulled off his own helmet and tucked it under his shoulder.

“Who said anything was wrong with it?”

Bruce sent him a sidelong glance. “I know you, Jackie. I know when you’re upset about something. Do you think it won’t work?”

The elevator doors slid open. Jackie stepped inside. He could feel Bruce watching him. He had been avoiding this discussion for months now, and for a while he’d seriously thought that they would never need to have it, but Wayne Enterprises and Lucius Fox had ruined that.

“I don’t have any reason to go back,” he said finally when the doors shut again. He hated himself the second he said it.

Bruce looked startled. “I thought we wanted to go stop the Joker. He can’t be up to any good over there.”

“Right, the Joker.” Jackie met his gaze, unamused. “I don’t think he can really make things worse over there.”

“I don’t understand,” Bruce said.

“Have you noticed this?” Jackie lifted his cane in the air and waved it. “I don’t know how much running after criminals I’ll be doing. Everyone I knew over there is dead, Bruce. There aren’t any crime fighters left.”

They reached the third floor and the doors opened. Jackie lowered his voice, glancing toward their neighbor’s apartment. Bruce unlocked the door to their apartment and led the way inside.

“Maybe that’s a good reason for us to go,” Bruce said. “Life must be hell over there, and I don’t see that as a reason for not going to help. Gotham doesn’t need us anymore. Maybe it’s time to find a place that does.”

“Bruce--” Jackie started, then stopped. He glanced towards the locked bedroom door, then back at Bruce. For a moment, he hesitated, hating himself for what he was going to say, but then he said it anyway. “You think that the reason you haven’t gone out as Batman is just because you don’t need to?”

“I’ve been in recovery,” Bruce said stiffly.

“Yes, we both have,” Jackie allowed, pressing on ruthlessly. “But it’s been six months, and you’re nearly better. The murderer that Ramirez was talking about--you didn’t even try to go after him.”

“The police were more than capable of taking care of the problem.”

“Six months ago, you wouldn’t have given them the time to do it.”

“I’m beginning to think that law enforcement is best left to those who hold themselves accountable under the law,” Bruce said. “Gotham’s police are just starting to get out from under all the corruption. But I don’t think the people in your world have that luxury.”

Jackie sighed and let it go. “Right,” he said, unconvinced. He turned towards the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

Bruce frowned, obviously not liking the subject change, but he just nodded. “Yeah, actually. You going to make lunch?”

Jackie opened the fridge and glanced inside. “Just sandwiches, I think.” He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down in front of the fridge to take out sandwich ingredients. “I don’t need help,” he added.

Bruce took the hint and disappeared towards the bedrooms. Jackie sent a glance after him, chewing on the corner of his lip.

He hadn’t been entirely truthful when talking to Bruce about why he didn’t want to go. True, he was currently crippled and wouldn’t be much help. True, Bruce hadn’t put on the Batman suit in six months and Jackie thought there was something more behind that. But there was something else.

His own Gotham would seem empty without Owlman in it. It was a truly messed up idea, and Jackie fully acknowledged that fact, but it was true. Owlman had defined his life in his Gotham. After Eddie and Eve died and Duela left, the only thing that kept him going from day to day was Owlman’s constant presence in the city. If Owlman hadn’t been there, he honestly didn’t know how he would have continued.

Now Owlman was dead. Jackie had Bruce, and he wasn’t afraid of not being able to go on with his life anymore, but it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t miss Owlman. What was that saying? You can’t go home again? They were right about that. The Gotham he would be returning to would be an empty husk of its former self.

##

Bruce turned the key in the lock and pushed the storage room door open, pocketing the key. Warm, stale air skirted out the door, puffing against his face. He took in a breath and left the door open.

The second bedroom in their apartment had been used as storage since they had moved in. The boxes were piled up around the room, containing some of the remaining Batman cowls, batarangs and tear gas canisters from Wayne Manor.

The blinds had been drawn, but sunlight was squeezing around the edges, lighting up dust motes in the slowly revolving air. The room tasted like dust. It felt as if everything in here had been frozen in time and Bruce’s appearance was an unwelcome intrusion.

In the middle of the room, draped over a stack of crates, was Batman’s suit. The stomach panels had been neatly repaired. The cape was folded up, the belt curled up on top of it like a sleeping cat. The gauntlets sat side by side. The cowl stared blankly at the ceiling.

Bruce was new to this relationship thing. Sure, there had been women before. Lots of them. But a few weeks at best of dating the same woman wasn’t what he would call a relationship. And as much as he had loved Rachel, his relationship with her had been a series of missed connections. Bruce’s default position seemed to be ‘alone’, and that was what made Batman strong. But now there was Jackie, and that meant Batman was…unnecessary.

Bruce glanced back at the open door, listening to Jackie bang around in the kitchen. He realized that his palms were sweating. He wiped them on his pants and then turned back to the suit, taking a breath.

The Yoruba tribes in Africa believed that masks were worn by ghosts, and if you listened to a mask lying on the ground, you could hear them whispering inside. Bruce stepped closer to the crates and then stopped, staring into the empty eyes of his own cowl.

 _Ha ha, you bat freak_ , Owlman had said to him after pulling the trigger. Bruce put a hand to his stomach, feeling the lump of scar tissue there. It had been the worst pain he’d ever felt. They told him that he had died twice on the operating table. He shouldn’t be alive right now. Fall twice, get up three times.

 _You know how you’ll feel if you shoot him right now?_ the Joker had asked him when Bruce had control of the gun. And Bruce had replied, _Safer_.

But it wasn’t true. Owlman was dead, but Bruce couldn’t bring himself to touch his old costume. In a sense, Batman really had died on that operating table. He didn’t feel safe. He felt incomplete.

##

That night the house was hot and sticky. The air coming in through the window over the bed was only slightly cooler than it had been during the daylight hours and it was as still as glass. Once in a while, if they were very lucky, a breath of air would wander in by accident and ghost across bare skin.

Jackie was lying awake, listening to the cars on the streets out the window. It was two in the morning but there were still people out there, heading home from bars or late night shifts at work. There was always life in the city.

Back when he got his first apartment, he lived in a place like this. Not as nice (and that's really saying something) but it had the same sounds out the window. There had been a single mother next door raising five kids and there was always a baby crying or a television going. Cars would drive by with music blasting. Jackie hadn’t minded the noise at all. It had reminded him that there were other people in the world besides him. In that strange time in his life between leaving his father and meeting Owlman, he had needed that reminder.

Bruce shifted in the bed next to him, rolling over and dangling a hand over the edge of the bed. The hair on the back of his neck was damp with sweat. There was a melted tray of ice cubes on the bedside table underneath the slowly turning fan. Jackie reached out and dipped his fingers in the cool water, finding the tiny wedge of a half-melted ice cube. He cupped it in his palm, looking at it, then rolled onto his side and touched it to Bruce’s back.

Bruce shifted again and then settled with a sigh when Jackie drew the tiny ice sliver in a slow pattern across his back, leaving a wet trail. Jackie rested his head in his pillow and traced lazy swirls on Bruce’s bare skin. When the ice melted, he used his wet fingers.

These two Gothams were so similar that sometimes Jackie forgot that there was any difference between the two. Even if these two Gothams were mirror images of morality, and Jackie doubted that, the everyday citizens averaged out to be the same. Jackie suspected that if you rated everyone on a scale between selfless and selfish, it would make a Bell curve, with most people falling right in the middle. There would only be a handful of standouts who did all good or all bad. Ultimately it led to two Gothams that were fundamentally the same. It was just the people in charge that set them apart.

Bruce’s breathing evened out into sleep. His skin was warm from the heat of the room. Jackie flatted his palm against his back, feeling his back rise and fall with each breath.

Bruce had no purpose here in this Gotham anymore. Everyone knew his identity. The police had been trained as Bruce himself had been in order to take out any sort of threat. Commissioner Gordon had been pushed into an early retirement because of his association with Bruce, although he had managed to avoid any criminal charges. Bruce’s property had been seized and was in the process of being auctioned off. He had to keep hidden because most people would recognize his face on the street. All the two of them could look forward to was dead end jobs in R&D, maybe buying a house together someday, and perhaps leaving Gotham for good.

At least the other Gotham gave them a purpose in life. It gave them potential. There, Bruce could be Batman again, even if he didn’t think he was ready for that yet. And Jackie didn’t want them to go back because…why? Because he didn’t want to have to face his old home, knowing his arch nemesis was dead? How selfish was that?

He had made his choice back in the penthouse. It had come down to Bruce or Thomas and he had chosen.

Jackie leaned forward and planted a kiss between Bruce’s shoulder blades. He rested his head there, listening to Bruce’s heart.

“Bruce,” he whispered.

After a pause, Bruce’s breathing shifted. “Mm?” he murmured.

“Let’s go to the other Gotham tomorrow.”

Bruce was silent for a moment and Jackie thought he had fallen back asleep.

“Kay,” Bruce said finally, his voice trailing away. Jackie kissed his shoulder blades again and listened to the traffic in the street.


	3. Chapter 3

They closed up the house as if they were leaving for good. Jackie called up Ramirez and told her they they were leaving for a while and that she could help herself to their food, preferably before it all expired. One of Ramirez’s friends had a garage where they could store the motorcycle so Bruce brought it over there. They packed.

Bruce folded up the Batman suit without really looking at it. He was bringing a duffle bag and nothing else. They didn’t know where they would end up or what they would need. Jackie had told him that money looked different there, so they wouldn’t be able to buy anything they needed.

Jackie had a bag of his own. His old suit was long gone, but over the past six months he had collected some thrift store clothing that made a good substitute. There was a long green jacket, green pants with faint pinstriping, a nifty purple vest, and an olive green button down shirt. It was far too hot to wear the thing now, but it was the Jokester’s uniform and he had to have it.

“Ready?” Jackie asked finally when Bruce zipped up his duffle bag for the last time. He looked nervous. Bruce felt a quiver of guilt at asking him to do this, but he had already given Jackie an opportunity to back out and Jackie had refused.

“I’m ready,” Bruce said, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He turned around, glancing for the last time around the apartment. Everything was shut off, apartment locked, blinds closed.

Bruce took the ring off his finger, where he had kept it since the meeting. Jackie slung an arm around his waist, pulling Bruce tight against him.

“Ready to physically join?” Jackie asked, waggling his eyebrows. Bruce smiled and took Jackie’s hand

“If this somehow kills us both, it was really nice knowing you,” Bruce said, hoping that Jackie could read the apology in his words.

“Ditto,” Jackie replied, meeting his gaze.

Bruce slid the ring onto Jackie’s finger.

##

The flame thrower made a sound like tearing paper, and Jackie fell flat on his ass. There were people around him, screaming and running. It was remarkably like Jackie’s entrance into Gotham with the Joker six months ago, except this time they weren’t screaming and running from him.

They were at the corner of 16th and Bower and the streets were full of people. Jackie caught an impression of signs when he scrambled to his feet, as if the people had been protesting something, but the major impression he got was fire and screaming.

There was a man standing about twenty feet away, holding a flame thrower at waist level. It was spewing a tongue of flame five feet long. Jackie knew that flame thrower. He knew those broadly muscled shoulders and that neatly slicked back hair.

Ultraman turned and saw him just as Bruce bumped into Jackie, jostled by a fleeing pedestrian. The man’s bright blue eyes jumped from Jackie to Bruce and a strange look crossed his face.

“It’s about fucking time,” he shouted, stepping forward and carelessly aiming the flame thrower to the side. “You said you’d be back in a couple we--”

A bullet thumped into Ultraman’s bulletproof vest and he flinched back, looking around. There was a woman standing on the other side of the street, holding a gun. Makeup streaked her face, her flesh painted green on the left, white down the middle and bare on the right. Half her hair was short, red and spiky and the other half was long and black. She raised her aim a little, going for the head. The streets were emptying fast and Jackie could hear a police megaphone shouting somewhere in the distance.

“I have the shot and I’m taking it,” she said to thin air as Ultraman swung around to face her. “I’m not going to wait for--”

“Three Face?” Jackie said in shock.

Her eyes flickered over to him, widening, but then Ultraman was in range of her, swinging his flame thrower and spraying napalm over everything in his path. Three Face squeezed off two shots and then threw herself out of the way.

Jackie took a step towards them and stumbled, his knee sending a sharp protest when he put his weight on it. He glanced back at Bruce.

“We need to--” he started, and then stopped.

Bruce was frozen, staring at Ultraman and Three Face. He looked white as a ghost.

“What?” Jackie asked. “What’s wrong?”

Another shot rang out and Jackie saw the flinch run all the way through Bruce. It was the gun. Understanding flooded in. Jackie grabbed Bruce’s arm.

“We need to get out of here,” he said. “Come on.”

Bruce took a stiff step when Jackie pulled on his arm and then he seemed to shake himself, snapping out of it. He looked at Jackie, his eyes focusing.

“Come on,” Jackie said again and this time Bruce came with him. They stumbled into an alley with a few more fleeing people, out of sight of Three Face and Ultraman and their battle. Jackie forced himself to continue going forward, pushing thoughts of Three Face out of his head. They were no match for Ultraman at this moment in time. They would be killed just like that.

“Who was that?” Bruce asked when they stopped halfway down the alley. A few people squeezed past them, continuing down the alley.

“Ultraman,” Jackie said, breathing hard and leaning on the wall. He flexed his knee gingerly. “And the woman was Three Face…Eve Dent.”

“I thought you said she was dead.”

“I don’t know.” Jackie shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on. Is this the right place?”

“He thought I was Owlman, didn’t he? Who is Ultraman?” Bruce glanced towards the entrance of the alley. The street was mostly empty now, from what they could see.

“He’s one of the other members of the Crime Syndicate that Owlman was in,” Jackie said, his voice low and his eyes fixed on the alley entrance. “His real name is Clark Kent. He was in the Air Force until they decided he was a little too much of a sociopath for them. He likes the flame thrower. That was what he was using when--when Eddie was--” Jackie shook his head. “Eve couldn’t have survived that. They ripped her arm off…”

“She had a prosthetic,” Bruce said carefully.

Jackie looked towards him, his heart pulsing uncomfortably in the back of his throat. “I left them,” he choked out. “They were dead.”

Bruce wordlessly reached out and touched Jackie’s shoulder. His eyes were sympathetic. “I don’t know much about it, but I know that you wouldn’t have left anyone to die if you thought there was a chance you could save them. Maybe we came to the wrong place.”

Jackie nodded tightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone stop at the alley entrance. He turned his head.

Three Face was standing at the end of the all, holding the gun in a two-armed stance. She sighted down the barrel at them, starting to pull the trigger.

“No!” Jackie shouted, shoving Bruce out of the way. He held his breath, waiting for the shot, but none came.

“Why not?” Three Face said coldly.

“Evie? Is that you?” he said, his voice shaking. “I thought you were dead.”

Three Face didn’t answer. She didn’t lower her gun, either. Jackie kept himself between her and Bruce. Bruce was silent at his back. Jackie didn’t think either of them could handle Bruce being shot again.

“He’s not Owlman,” Jackie said. “He’s someone else. He’s on our side. Please don’t shoot him.”

They stared at each other, the gun steady between them. Jackie couldn’t read what was going on in her eyes, but at least she hadn’t shot them yet.

“You were supposed to be dead,” Three Face said finally. “I thought you died in the attack on our house.”

Jackie licked his lips. “I saw them hit Eddie. I saw them rip off your arm. I couldn’t get to you in time. I ran.”

“It’s been more than a _year_.” Her voice was accusatory but the gun had lowered a fraction.

“I stuck around for eight months,” Jackie snapped back. “I was here. Where were _you_?”

Her gun lowered all the way. She fixed her eyes on Bruce, then glanced over her shoulder, and finally stepped into the alley. She holstered the gun.

“I ran too.”

There was a burst of more screaming in the street. Three Face glanced over her shoulder, looking troubled.

“We need to get out of here. It’s gotten completely out of control. They’re not even bothering to fight back. They’re just being killed.” She approached them, stopping a few feet away and looking Jackie up and down. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, and Jackie recognized the shift of her personality into Eve. “I’m glad to see you.”

“I’m glad too,” Jackie said. He looked over his shoulder at Bruce, who was studying Three Face with a look of intense fascination. “This is Bruce Wayne.”

Three Face glanced at Bruce and gave him a nod, then turned away, all business once again. “Come on. I’ll take you back to our apartment.”

“ ‘Our’?” Jackie said.

Three Face glanced back at Jackie. “Me and Eddie,” she replied.

##

It was a basement apartment in the Narrows, at the bottom of a set of stairs. There was a chair lift attached to the railing. Jackie took the stairs one at a time, gripping the railing. Bruce watched him like a hawk, which was kind of endearing except that Three Face was watching Bruce with just as much intensity and Jackie kind of felt as if he were surrounded by vultures.

Three Face knocked on the door at the bottom of the stairs. “It’s me,” she said out loud. The door unlocked and Three Face and led them inside.

Bruce still looked wary, but he had good reason. Three Face was making no secret of her distrust of him. When they stepped inside the apartment, she turned and locked the door. It had a number of dead bolts and seemed to be reinforced with steel.

They were in a small kitchen. A bare yellow bulb burned over the sink, which was filled with dishes. A rickety wooden table was pushed against the other wall with two chairs neatly tucked in. The only window was a small rectangular one high on the wall over the table, frosted over and criss-crossed with wire mesh. It glowed with the sunlight outside. Three Face pulled open the folding door that blocked the way into the next room and they stepped inside.

This was a room that had obviously meant to be a living room, but now it had been converted into a hospital room. A double bed stood in the center of the room, the headboard pushed against the far wall. Computers were set up all around the bed and a computer keyboard sat on a tray within reach. The overhead light was off but the computer screens all glowed, throwing the room into a twilight gloom. The room smelled medicinal.

On the bed lay Eddie, although if Jackie hadn’t known it was him, he never would have recognized him. The man on the bed was thin and weak. There was no muscle definition anymore. He was wearing thin pajama bottoms and no shirt. His chest all the way up to his neck was covered in thick, rippled burns.

He was wearing a mask over his face. It was a plain white mask, the kind you could buy in a craft store to decorate, except it had been left blank. There was a small hole for the mouth, but the eyes were just bulbs of plastic with no holes. His head turned in their direction.

“Three sets of footsteps,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask.

“Eddie, I brought some guests,” Three Face said, standing at the foot of the bed. She glanced over at Jackie.

“Eddie,” Jackie said, his tongue feeling like it had doubled in size. “It’s me.”

“Jackie?” Eddie asked, turning his head. His hand groped in the bed sheets.

Jackie came to the side of the bed and took hold of Eddie’s hand. “It’s me,” he said, hearing his voice crack. “I thought you were dead.”

Eddie laughed hollowly. “Not dead,” he said. His hand squeezed Jackie’s and pulled him closer. Jackie sat down on the edge of the bed.

From here he could see how fingers of scar tissue edged out the sides of the mask, reaching back into Eddie’s hairline. There were oxygen tubes running up under the mask.

“And who is number three?” Eddie asked, tilting his head to aim it vaguely in Bruce’s direction.

Jackie glanced over his shoulder at Bruce, who was lingering uncomfortably in the doorway. Three Face was standing part way between him and Eddie, her body language obviously telling him to keep away. Jackie held out a hand and beckoned Bruce over.

“It’s a long story, but this is Bruce Wayne,” he said. “He’s, uh. Come from far away.”

“Bruce Wayne?” Eddie’s voice sounded faintly confused. “Commissioner Wayne’s dead son?”

“That’s the one. Well, I mean, he hasn’t come from that far away, he wasn’t dead--”

“Commissioner Wayne?” Bruce asked. “My father is the police commissioner?”

Jackie winced. “Well that’s a long story, too…”

“Yes, he is,” Three Face said.

Bruce looked at Jackie in shock without saying anything. Jackie looked at him guiltily.

“I didn’t think we’d ever be coming back here,” he said.

Bruce stared at Jackie, his expression wavering between a few that Jackie couldn’t quite understand. “What about my mother?”

“She’s dead,” Jackie said quietly.

The room was silent. Eddie squeezed Jackie’s hand again and Jackie looked back at him. The white mask made something jump in his chest and he looked away. He didn’t want to know what kind of damage was behind that mask.

“It sounds like we all have to talk,” Eddie murmured. He raised his other hand. “Please, Mr. Wayne, sit down.”

##

Three Face brought in the chairs from the kitchen and Jackie talked. He told them about leaving the city with the Joker and most of what had happened in the other Gotham with Bruce and Owlman.

“You cut his throat?” Three Face asked when he was done. Her eyes were fixed on Jackie in something like wonder.

“I had to,” Jackie replied. “He’s dead.” He looked from her to Eddie. “Tell me everything that happened.”

Three Face glanced at Eddie as well, then took a breath. “I don’t know how we survived what happened at our house. I think Ultraman and Superwoman thought that we were dead just as you had. They left us to go after you and we just…” She trailed off, touching her prosthetic arm. “There was a doctor who took care of us. He did the best he could for Eddie. He was working on helping Eddie see again, but then something else came up…” She looked at Eddie.

“What Three Face doesn’t want to say is that I have stomach cancer,” Eddie said, turning his face towards Jackie. “They found it during one of my surgeries. I’m undergoing chemotherapy right now.”

“No,” Jackie said in horror. “Is it--I mean, are you--?”

“I have a chance,” Eddie said with a small jerk of his shoulders. “Not a big one.”

“The doctor’s a very good one,” Three Face put in. “He does charity work in the Narrows. He gave us a place to stay until we both recovered enough to leave, and we came here just four months ago. We’ve been trying to get by ever since.”

“What was going on out there earlier? What was Ultraman doing?”

Three Face shrugged. “The CSA has pushed the people around here too far. They’ve been fighting back, protesting and rioting. Ultraman and Superwoman don’t know the first thing about how to control it. It’s all because Owlman left, really. Owlman knew not to push everyone too far. He let them have rebellion in small doses so that he could control them. Ultraman and Superwoman just pushed everyone down until they exploded.” She sighed. “They haven’t ben fighting back too hard, though. It’s like they’ve gotten so used to being beaten down that they don’t want to fight back anymore.

“What about Duela? Have you heard from her?”

Three Face shook her head. “She’s gone.”

“She has to be out there somewhere.”

“She ran off with the protege of the sociopath we’ve been fighting. I don’t think the odds are in her favor,” Three Face said coolly.

“You can’t just assume she’s dead.”

“There’s no way to track her down,” Eddie said. “We just have to hope for the best.”

Jackie looked away, frustrated. Bruce was staring distractedly at a spot on the floor. Jackie felt a surge of guilt. He should have told Bruce about his father months ago, but it just hadn’t seemed important at the time, and afterwards he hadn’t even thought of it. But of course Bruce would want to know about his father.

“We came here to look for the Joker,” Jackie said, turning back to Eddie. “He fled here with Owlman’s body. You haven’t heard anything or seen anything about that?”

Three Face shook her head. “I think I’d notice if I saw another you running around, and we certainly haven’t seen Owlman’s body. I don’t think Ultraman and Superwoman know he’s dead. I think they just think he abandoned them.”

“He thought Bruce was Owlman. He said it was about time that he came back.”

Three Face smirked. “He must be scratching his head over where Owlman went now.”

“I don’t know what our plan is now if the Joker’s not around,” Jackie said.

“I want to see my father,” Bruce spoke up. Everyone looked at him. He had raised his gaze from the floor and was looking at Three Face.

Three Face tipped her chair back on two legs. “I could introduce you,” she said thoughtfully.

“No,” Jackie said. Bruce’s gaze flicked to him. “He _hates_ Owlman. He’ll kill you on sight.”

“I need to go into town anyway, so I might as well go with him,” Three Face said with a shrug. “I can talk to him first. He doesn’t like me but he’ll listen.”

Jackie looked at Bruce, who was looking back at him. “Are you sure?”

Bruce said nothing, but his gaze was uncompromising. Three Face let her chair legs hit the ground again. She got up.

“You want to go now?”

“I can come,” Jackie said to Bruce.

Eddie tugged on his hand. “Let the man visit his father alone,” he said. Jackie glanced back at him, then up at Bruce. Bruce’s gaze had softened a little.

“It will be fine,” Bruce said, getting to his feet as well. “We’ll be back in a little while.”

##

When the door closed behind Three Face and Bruce, Jackie let out a sigh. He was uncomfortable looking at Eddie, so he transferred his gaze to the computers around the bed.

“What are you doing here with all the computers?”

“I like to keep track of things,” Eddie said. He reached out and touched the keyboard tray. One of the computers had a police database on it. Another had a muted news channel. A third had some information on CSA movement in the city. “I can’t do anything physical right now so I wanted to find some other way of being useful.”

He touched a key on the keyboard and one of the monitors let out a chime. The screen unmuted itself and the news anchor started chattering excitedly about the riots and how fifteen people were dead with the count expected to rise.

“The CSA doesn’t understand how they’re shooting themselves in the foot,” Eddie said quietly. “They’re trying to pin people down but it’s only making them angrier.”

“We ran into Ultraman out there,” Jackie said. “He was solving the problem the way he knows best.”

Eddie let out a soft laugh and Jackie belatedly winced, glancing towards Eddie’s mask. Eddie muted the monitor screen again.

“You and Bruce are together,” Eddie said after a pause.

Jackie shot him a look. “Yes,” he said.

“But there was some tension between you,” Eddie added.

Jackie hung his head. “I should have told him about his father. In his world, he was the only survivor. He never had an older brother. It was just him and his parents.”

“It wasn’t about that. You were tense about was something else. You’d be surprised how much better you get at reading between the lines when you can’t see body language any more. You two seemed a little distant from each other.”

“We haven’t been distant,” Jackie protested. “We’ve been doing fine. We’ve been living together for the past six months. It’s going really well.”

“Do you love him?”

Jackie hesitated. “Yeah, I think I do,” he said slowly.

“You killed Owlman to save him.” Eddie said it thoughtfully. “I never thought that you would ever kill Owlman.”

“He was going to kill Bruce.”

Eddie actually laughed. “Jackie, please tell me that you’re being deliberately obtuse. What has been the one driving force in your life for the past six years? From the moment you met Owlman, he had been your one consuming obsession. I don’t care who Owlman was planning to kill; the Jackie I knew wouldn’t have killed Owlman. What did he do to you?”

“He didn’t do anything.”

Eddie paused for a moment. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said finally. “Not if you don’t want to. But let me ask you this: Do you think you made the right choice?”


	4. Chapter 4

The City Hall in this Gotham was in an older building than in Bruce’s own Gotham. It looked like it had been around forever, with a stone foundation and creaking wooden floors when Three Face led them inside. She brought Bruce up a staircase and into a narrow hallway lined with offices and then knocked on a door.

“Come in,” called a voice. Three Face pushed the door open and then gestured for Bruce to stay where he was.

“Wait until I call you,” she said, slipping inside the office.

Bruce waited outside the door. There were office sounds all around him as people answered phones or photocopied papers in the offices down the hall. Bruce leaned against the wall and focused on settling his stomach. Now that he was waiting, he could feel the anxiety rising.

Bruce had only known his father for eight years, and he knew that most of what he remembered about his father were actually things Alfred had told him over the years, or things that he had read in news articles. His father had been a powerful, charismatic man, and he had left an impact on everyone he met. Bruce had heard so many stories from so many different people about how his father had touched their lives in some way.

He was afraid that the face of his father’s that he remembered, the one that he kept in his mind’s eye when he was thinking about the man, was a face that he had seen in photographs, not a face that he actually remembered from his past. He could picture the night of the murders clearly, but he had remembered the situation so many times that it was almost a caricature in his head instead of a real memory. His father had been dead for three quarters of Bruce’s life now. There were butterflies in his stomach.

He heard Three Face talking in a low voice. She was saying things like “alternate universe” and “your son”. He thought for a brief moment that she could actually be telling the man to shoot Bruce on sight but Jackie had seemed to trust her not to do that.

“Come in, Bruce,” Three Face called. Bruce pushed the door open.

Commissioner Thomas Wayne, Sr. sat behind a wide wooden desk, his hands planted flat on the surface. He was leaning forward slightly in his chair, his eyes intense. Bruce stopped dead just inside the door, staring at him.

The man looked exactly like his father had. The same brown hair, parted in the same way. His jowls were a little heavier but of course he was twenty-four years older than when Bruce’s father had died. Bruce felt grief surge up into his throat.

“Bruce?” his father said, his eyes searching Bruce’s face frantically. He rose slowly to his feet. “You’re…really Bruce?”

Bruce stepped further into the room. “Father?” he said.

His father stepped around the desk and approached Bruce cautiously, as if he thought Bruce would disappear if he moved too quickly. “You look just like Thomas,” he said, stopping just within arm’s reach. “But I can see the differences. You have your mother’s eyes.”

He grasped Bruce’s arm, staring down at it as if trying to be sure that it was real. Bruce studied his face, trying to drink in the details. He could see the tiny scar by his father’s ear that he had gotten in a minor car accident when Bruce was young. He remembered that gold-capped tooth in the back that always glittered when his father had smiled. Details that he hadn’t known he’d forgotten came rushing back.

His father took in a breath, his jaw set to hold back emotion. “I don’t understand how this is even possible,” he said, his voice unsteady. He glanced towards Three Face. “Thank you for finding my boy.”

She looked embarrassed. “I have an errand to run,” she said, heading for the door. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Wait a second,” Bruce’s father said. He patted Bruce’s arm as if commanding him to stay, then turned back to his desk, clearing his throat. “We got news about a hijacking out in the ocean. Someone matching the description of Superwoman took over a freighter and made off with a weapon. A bomb large enough to take out all of Gotham.” He went to his desk and shuffled through some papers, then shoved the report at Three Face.

Bruce and Three Face both gaped at him. “The whole city?” Bruce asked incredulously.

“We suspect it will be arriving in Gotham tomorrow around noon,” Commissioner Wayne said to Three Face. “It’s likely they’re going to try to use it to hold us all hostage and try to get the rioting to calm down. I don’t think they’ll detonate the entire thing unless they decide the city is lost to them, but it can be broken into parts that would take out smaller parts of the city as a warning.”

Three Face looked troubled. “We’ll take care of this,” she said. “I’ll be back soon.” She slipped out the door.

Commissioner Wayne watched her go, an unreadable expression on his face, then glanced at Bruce again, taking a breath. He put on a smile and gestured to one of the comfortable chairs in the corner of the room. “Let’s have a seat.”

Bruce followed his lead obediently, unable to take his eyes off his father. It was so surreal, as if the man had risen from the dead. He sat down in one of the chairs his father had gestured to and sank into the soft leather.

For a moment they just stared at each other. His father seemed to be not quite able to believe his own eyes. Bruce couldn’t blame him. Even after knowing that this alternate Gotham existed, he had never once considered the possibility of his father being alive.

“I’ve heard the rumors about alternate universes,” his father said finally. “I didn’t really pay them much thought.”

“How did you become the police commissioner?” Bruce asked. “You were a doctor, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was a doctor,” his father said, clasping his hands on his knees. “But when you--when the attack happened, I knew that saving lives wasn’t good enough. I had to stop the corruption in this city that was causing all the misery.”

Bruce nodded eagerly. “I know what you mean. But you--you always said you had no interest in politics.”

“No. I still don’t.” His father laughed for the first time, and there was that glitter of the gold tooth. His eyes crinkled at the corners. Bruce found himself smiling in response. “You must be around thirty now, aren’t you? Thirty-one?”

“Thirty-one,” Bruce confirmed.

“What have you been doing with your life? What have you been up to?”

“I--” Bruce swallowed. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Please, tell me everything,” Commissioner Wayne said. “I want to hear it.”

More than once in Bruce’s life, he had imagined having this exact conversation with his father. He would lay awake sometimes and imagine his father asking him what he had been doing since the murder, and Bruce would list all the details: _I wanted to kill your murderer but someone else got to him first. I spent seven years in Bhutan, training in martial arts with the man who had caused the global depression you had worked so hard to combat. I dressed up as a bat to fight my enemies in Gotham, and in doing so I turned myself into a public enemy. I stopped a terrorist from killing hundreds of people, but I let myself be seen as a villain. I saved that terrorist’s life and then he went on to kill Alfred. The police found out my identity and I lost all of our property, including the house that our family had lived in for generations._ He didn’t know why the list of facts turned into such a series of disappointments but perhaps it was because Bruce had always feared that his father was not going to be proud of what he had become.

“I was so angry about your deaths,” Bruce said slowly, trying to work it all out in his head so he could best explain it. “I wanted to do something to fight back against the criminals that had caused it all to happen. I guess I had the same reasons you did when you became Commissioner, except instead I traveled to Bhutan and trained to fight people. I called myself Batman.”

“Batman,” Commissioner Wayne echoed. “You were a vigilante?”

Bruce glanced up at the word. “I held myself accountable to the law. I never killed. I tried not to cause undue harm. I understand why the laws exist, and I tried never to break them. But Gotham was too corrupt to change from inside the police department.”

“How did it go?” Wayne asked, seeming to catch on the caution in Bruce’s voice.

“I helped to stop the organized crime in Gotham. I stopped terrorists. I trained the police force.” He dropped his gaze. “But it didn’t end well. They found out who I was and I lost everything. I’m sorry.”

Commissioner Wayne studied him for a moment, saying nothing. Bruce felt himself shrinking under his gaze. Finally the Commissioner leaned forward and clasped Bruce on the arm.

“I always knew you were a good boy,” he said quietly. “You were always doing what you could for others, even as a little boy. Your brother was always the selfish one.” He shook his head, his eyes distant. “I knew Thomas would never have followed in my footsteps as a doctor but you… I had high hopes for you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do what you’d always hoped for.”

“No.” Commissioner Wayne’s eyes focused on him. “You did what you had to. I know how it was. You faced hard decisions. I couldn’t have continued on as a doctor after that, seeing what I saw. There are critical decisions that must be made.”

“I had to make them hate me,” Bruce said. “I had to make Gotham think I was the villain so they wouldn’t see how deep the corruption went…”

“We have to make sacrifices,” Commissioner Wayne said. “You did what you had to do, son. I’m proud of you.”

“I missed you,” Bruce choked out. Commissioner Wayne nodded, his mouth tight in the way that Bruce knew he was trying to keep from showing too much emotion.

“You were always such a good kid,” Commissioner Wayne said gruffly. “I always wished I could have told you that. I never should have--a man should never have to bury his own--”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and Bruce waited. There were so many things he had always wanted to say to his father and right now his throat was closed so tightly he didn’t think he could speak. He closed his eyes, feeling his father grip his arm.

Bruce chewed his lip for a second, then opened his eyes again. He swallowed. “Your son--Owlman--he died back in Gotham. In my Gotham, I mean. I’m sorry.”

Commissioner Wayne stared at him, taking in a breath. His expression was under control. There was no grief there anymore. “How did it happen?” he asked.

Bruce hesitated. It was one thing to tell him that Owlman had died, but another to tell him who had murdered him. “He was… He was killed during a hostage situation.”

The Commissioner’s mouth twisted. “I’m not surprised,” he said flatly. “Hard to believe I raised two sons who were so completely different from each other. I can’t say I’m terribly upset. I mourned his death twenty-four years ago.” He rubbed at his chin, looking off into the distance for a moment, then turned his attention abruptly back to Bruce.

“Gotham hasn’t been doing too well under my command,” he said. “I have a total of thirty police who aren’t corrupt. We’re powerless against this CSA, and it doesn’t help that the people are starting to riot against them now. I swear there is someone out there stirring them up. I would never have thought that the people of Gotham had that kind of feeling in them. They’ve always acted like beaten dogs. Someone is giving them a reason to come out and protest. Your friend Three Face seems to be in the middle of everything.” He glanced briefly towards the door. “She’s obsessed, that one. I can see it in her eyes.”

“She means well,” Bruce said cautiously, although he didn’t really know Three Face well enough to know one way or another.

“That’s not always good enough,” Commissioner Wayne said. He seemed to have his emotions under control now. “Some people…don’t have the same morals you have. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one behind these riots. She thinks that the people can lead a revolution like this, but that’s not what Gotham needs.” He shook his head. “On the one side is the CSA trying to force everyone under their power and killing everyone who rebels. On the other is people like the Riddlers who think arming people to fight back is going to actually solve everyone’s problems rather than just cause bloodshed. They’d do us all a favor if they just took each other out.”

“You really think that?”

“I know they’re your friends. I just don’t think they’re doing much good for this city.” He fixed Bruce with an intense look that Bruce could remember from the past. “You should join me, Bruce. Help me get this city under control. I’m deadlocked against the CSA but if you give me your expertise, we can do something.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Right now? We need to make an all out attack,” Commissioner Wayne said immediately. “I don’t have enough men to do it, but if I did, we would go head to head with them. Knock them reeling and then take the upper hand. We don’t need to beat them down entirely, just enough to grab some control from them. They have far more men than I do. If we wait for them to get this bomb, we won’t have any way of taking over, because they’ll have the ultimate back up plan.”

“I’m just one man,” Bruce said, spreading his hands.

“Now we’re two,” his father replied, his teeth showing in a grin.

“Have you considered working with the others? Three Face and the Riddler and Jackie? Uh, the Jokester?”

His father squinted at him, leaning back in his chair. “I toss some stuff their way, but honestly I think they’re more anti-establishment types than soldiers.”

“You need all the people you can get if you want to attack the CSA before they get the bomb tomorrow,” Bruce pointed out. “How about a temporary partnership?”

“You really believe in them?” Commissioner Wayne asked, looking dubious.

“The Jokester helped me take back Gotham,” Bruce said. “He saved my life. I know he’s a good person, and I know he trusts the others.”

“Heh. That clown.” Commissioner Wayne shook his head, still looking unimpressed.

“He’s a good man,” Bruce snapped.

Wayne raised his eyebrows, seeming taken aback. Bruce flushed. He was suddenly faced with the absurd situation of coming out to his father. Strange that he had been able to admit to being Batman, but admitting that he was in a relationship with Jackie seemed impossible.

“Does the CSA know that Owlman is dead?” Commissioner Wayne asked after a pause.

“I don’t think so,” Bruce said, latching onto the subject change with relief. “I saw Ultraman briefly when I first arrived here and he thought I was Owlman.”

Commissioner Wayne got to his feet. “I have something to show you,” he said.

He didn’t wait for Bruce to clamber to his feet before he crossed the office to a closet set in the wall. He pulled the door open and turned on the light, then shoved aside the few spare suits that were hanging on the rack. Behind it was something silver and blue.

“A few years back, my men managed to seize one of his old uniforms,” he said, pulling the suit off the rack. It looked very similar to the costume Bruce remembered seeing Owlman wear, although it was missing the wings.

Bruce reached out and touched the material. It felt like the material of his Batsuit. The mask stared at him through empty eyes. His mouth went dry.

“You look just like him,” the Commissioner said. “When the shipment arrives with the bomb tomorrow, you can show up and distract Ultraman and Superwoman. You can get close to the bomb and grab it, or lead them into some sort of trap. I’ll have my men waiting in the wings to back you up.”

“I--” Bruce started, staring at the suit. His mouth was more than dry now. It was arid, and it hurt to swallow. “I don’t--”

“I don’t trust those friends of yours, but I trust you,” Wayne said to him firmly. “I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt if you want to bring them along. Hell, if they can help you get this bomb, I’ll give them all a medal. This is our chance, Bruce.”

Bruce picked the mask out of his father’s hands and stared into it. _Ha ha, you bat freak._

“Make me proud,” the Commissioner said.

“I’ll do it,” Bruce said, his tongue stumbling over the words. The Commissioner broke into a wide grin and patted him on the shoulder.

“That’s my boy,” he said. “Now come on, sit down. Have a drink. Tell me about your life. I want to hear everything.”

##

A knock came at the door to the apartment a little while after Three Face and Bruce had left. Jackie rose to his feet.

“That’s the doc,” Eddie said, reaching for a button on the keyboard. The locks in the other room released.

Jackie went into the kitchen as the door opened. Standing in the stairwell was a tall, composed man with a neatly trimmed beard and strawberry-blond hair. He was holding a medicine bag in one hand.

“Oh,” he said, his eyebrows going up when he saw Jackie. “I didn’t think--he’s not ready yet.”

“Who?” Jackie said blankly.

“What?” The man looked confused.

“Are you the doctor?”

The man blinked at him. “Yes, I’m Henri Ducard.” He held out a hand for Jackie to shake. His voice was smooth and British. “I’m sorry, I was thinking of something else.”

“I’m Jackie,” Jackie replied, shaking it. He stepped out of the way, letting him into the apartment. Ducard headed straight into the living room and Jackie locked the door.

“How are you feeling?” Ducard was asking Eddie when Jackie came in.

“About the same,” Eddie said, struggling to sit up. Jackie tucked some pillows behind him.

“May I take off the mask?” Ducard asked, his hand hesitating in front of Eddie’s face.

“I can stay out here,” Jackie said, stepping back to the kitchen door.

“No, stay, Jackie,” Eddie said. “It’s okay. Go ahead, doctor.”

Ducard carefully removed the mask. Underneath, Eddie’s face was a mass of angrily knotted scar tissue, red and raw. His nose was gone, leaving a snarled lump of tissue and bare sinus holes. At first Jackie thought his eyes were gone but then he realized his eyes had been sewn shut with flaps of skin because he had no eyelids.

“We can’t do plastic surgery until the chemotherapy is done,” Eddie said as if he could see Jackie’s reaction. “My body can’t handle both.”

“All in good time,” Ducard said calmly, putting the mask aside. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and carefully probed the scars, looking everything over. “It is looking better, Mr. Nygma.”

There was a key in the lock and Three Face came into the apartment. She joined Jackie in the doorway. “They’ll be talking for hours,” she murmured to him.

Ducard opened his bag and began pulling things out of it. There was an IV post standing next to the bed. He pulled it closer.

“Are we still continuing with this, then?” Three Face said coolly.

“Pardon?” Ducard asked, although Jackie could tell from the tone in his voice that he knew exactly what Three Face was talking about.

“You can do more than this with for him,” Three Face said. “I know you can. Why do you insist on chemotherapy?”

Ducard inserted an IV into Eddie’s hand. His pale eyes flicked up to Three Face as he taped it into place. “Cancer is a natural affliction, Three Face. I am not one to argue with nature.”

“But you could if you wanted,” she insisted.

“No one is meant to live forever.”

Three Face stepped forward and Jackie grabbed her arm. She turned her head to him with a snarl but didn’t try to pull free. Ducard continued setting up the IV with unhurried movements.

“But the chemotherapy makes him sick,” Three Face said.

“It’s making the tumors sicker. Sometimes you have to attack the good flesh to kill the bad,” Ducard said. “He’s responding well to this treatment.”

Three Face said nothing, watching Eddie. Jackie let go of her arm, watching Ducard go about his work. Three Face crossed her arms over her chest and moved away.

##

When the attack had come on their house, Three Face still had the image of Duela’s betrayed expression seared across her eyes. Everything had happened so fast: Duela, telling them she had a boyfriend; Talon, standing on their balcony; the Riddler and the Jokester’s immediate shocked reactions. Three Face had stood there, just staring, split in three, part of her taking note of the hurt on Duela’s face, part recoiling in horror at the sight of Talon, and part immediately diving into planning mode, trying to figure out all the ways that this was a trap.

And then the first explosion had hit. Even now, she didn’t know what exactly had happened. The CSA must have followed Talon and Duela back to the house, and had made their attack the second Talon had cleared the house with Duela. Something had exploded off the balcony and sent a ball of flame into the living room. The Jokester had jumped clear, the only one of the three of them who had been able to see it coming. And then, beyond that, just fragments. Ultraman and Superwoman had come in. The Riddler had jumped into action, springing for a weapon, but this was their own home and they hadn’t been prepared for this sort of them. The carpet was smoldering under their feet and flames were climbing the walls and Ultraman was swinging his flame thrower around, a look of absolute delight on his face.

Eddie had screamed in a way that Three Face had never heard before when the napalm hit his face. Three Face had wanted to jam her hands over her ears but Superwoman was bringing her machete down in a bone-crunching thwack onto Three Face’s shoulder joint, yanking it out with a shriek of metal on bone and then slamming it in again. Three Face grabbed for the machete and it had buried itself in her palm. Superwoman grabbed Three Face’s wrist and yanked hard on her arm and the entire thing had come off with a crunch.

The ceiling had fallen then, crashing down in the center of the room. Superwoman spun away, stalking in the direction that the Jokester had disappeared. Three Face dropped to her knees, fumbling to find her arm in the gouts of smoke, and she’d found Eddie instead, his face nearly seared away to bone. It had been a horror movie reveal but Three Face’s mind still hadn’t quite caught up to everything that was happening yet.

Someone else had taken over at that point. Three Face only came back to herself a little later, out on the grass in the yard, Eddie grasped in her one arm. She had wrapped a torn bit of cloth around the stump of her left arm. The grass was crisping underneath them as the heat from the fire in the house radiated out at them.

She staggered back to her feet, letting Eddie slump to the ground. She was pretty sure Eddie was dead, and Jackie must be dead as well. She hated the thought of his body burning in there, left alone. She took a step towards the house.

The whole thing collapsed, clouds of embers gusting out the windows. Three Face stopped, standing there. She could hear crashes as more of the house collapsed further away. The living room where they had just been sitting. The garage where Eddie always worked. The kitchen where they cooked meals together.

There was no sound around them but the fire. No neighbors had come out of their houses to investigate. No fire engine sirens sounded in the distance. This was a CSA hit and everyone knew it. No one would be coming to help.

There was no reason why Three Face shouldn’t have died then. Most people died just from the shock of losing a limb, not the blood loss or the infection. Those came later. But Three Face had always been an expert at holding herself together.

A car barreled across the grass at them. Three Face dropped to a crouch, grabbing for her gun, but of course she still didn’t have her gun and the missing arm tipped her off balance. She fell onto her hip.

The car screeched to a halt and a man came out of it. He was not someone she recognized from the CSA. He was wearing a light jacket and was looking horrified. “It’s okay, I’m a doctor,” he called. “Please, don’t move too much. Is there anyone else inside the house?”

Three Face looked over her shoulder at the building. “Not anymore,” she whispered. Her throat hurt and her voice was raspy with the smoke.

The man dropped down next to Eddie’s body. Three Face dimly glanced down at him and realized that the body was shaking violently. _He’s still alive_ , Three Face thought.

“We need to get him into my car,” the man said, glancing up at Three Face. His eyes fixed on her arm. “I’m a doctor. If I can get you to my clinic, I can help you both.”

Three Face climbed to her feet, her head spinning. The man ran back to his car and came out with a collapsible stretcher, which he unfolded and then rolled Eddie onto. Three Face clumsily helped him, her limbs only responding drunkenly to her commands. The man loaded Eddie into the back of his car.

Later, Three Face would learn that the man, Dr. Henri Ducard, had been making a house call to someone in the area and had seen the flames. He ran a free clinic in the Narrows and would help anyone who came into his office, no matter who they were and no matter how the CSA was involved. He had saved both of their lives without any thought to the possible repercussions from the CSA.

It had been hard for her to come to terms with the loss of her arm. There had been a time in her life when Three Face was one woman, Evelyn Dent. Something Very Bad had happened to Evelyn, something so terrible that she had broken into three, and those new, stronger parts of herself had taken over that terrible thing and shared it among themselves so that none of them had to deal with the entirety of the situation. Fragmenting had helped her survive. The past sixteen years, she had devoted all of her energy to holding herself together. Having a piece of herself ripped off and flung away was a fundamental violation.

When her eyes were closed, she could still feel the arm there. It didn’t belong to any of them. It was its own entity, occasionally clenching its fist in silence.

“You will feel pain,” Ducard told her some time afterward, when her shoulder stump was covered in healed scar tissue. “You will think your arm is still there. It is the nerves reacting to the loss. There are therapies to help you deal with it.”

He had found her a doctor who made prosthetics and he had gotten her fitted with one of his best models. Even with it there, Three Face could feel the phantom limb inside it, her silent fourth sister.

Eddie’s recovery had been longer. Ducard had done so much for them, patiently putting Eddie back together, reconstructing his sinuses to help him breath, sewing his eyes shut to preserve them until he could find a way of giving Eddie new eyelids. It was on a routine scan of Eddie’s mostly undamaged torso that he found the tumors growing in Eddie’s stomach, little parts of Eddie growing wildly out of control.

Now she sat in the chair in Eddie’s room, cradling her arm to her chest and watching Ducard silently administering his medicine. The chemicals would run into Eddie’s veins and find the offending bits, searing away everything in its path like the fire had. He would be burned clean, inside and out. Three Face wondered if he would miss the dead parts of him when they were gone.

##

Ducard left after an hour, packing up his things and slipping out of the apartment. Eddie was sleeping. Three Face shut the door to the living room and sat in the kitchen with Jackie.

“What was all that about Ducard not helping Eddie?” Jackie asked quietly. Three Face looked defeated, slumped in her chair. She was wearing a tank top and shorts that looked as if she had stitched them together herself. The shirt showed Jackie the seam where the prosthetic arm fit into her shoulder.

“Ducard used to be obsessed with finding a way to live forever,” she said, her voice dull. “It had something to do with having cells heal themselves from the damage that age causes. He never really found that but during his experiments he found some sort of serum that rumor says can cure most illnesses.” Three Face drummed her fingers on the table top. “Something like hyper-accelerated healing. But he insists that he will not use it on natural diseases because that’s nature’s way. He’ll only use regular medicine for that. For some reason, he’s decided that no one deserves to live forever.”

“He would just let Eddie die even knowing he could save him?” Jackie asked.

“I don’t think he sees it as letting him die. He sees it as nature running its course.”

There were footsteps on the stairs and then a knock came at the door. “It’s me,” called Bruce’s voice. Three Face opened the door and let him in. He glanced towards the living room door.

“What‘s going on?”

“Eddie’s asleep,” Jackie said. “How was your father?”

Bruce pulled out the third chair and sat down at the table, putting down a brown paper bag on the floor. He looked a little more relaxed than when he had been here earlier. “He’s just like I remember him. It went well, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Bruce glanced at Three Face, then back at Jackie. “He told us both that the Crime Society has stolen some sort of nuclear weapon from a freighter on the ocean. It’s very likely that it will be shipped in to Gotham tomorrow. I suggested we all work together.”

“Together? With him?” Three Face said with a snort. “The man has the subtlety of a charging elephant.”

“He--He had the idea that I could impersonate Owlman. It might distract them long enough to get the weapon from them.” He glanced at Jackie.

Jackie stared back at him. “Impersonate Owlman?”

“You’ll have to tell me about the Crime Society,” Bruce said, his voice cautious as he waited for Jackie’s reaction. “So I can make a convincing Owlman. He gave me a spare suit.” He kicked at the brown paper bag.

“You would be perfect,” Three Face said, her eyes alight. “I think Jackie and I know enough about him to make you seem convincing.” She nudged Jackie. “Hmm?”

“Yeah,” Jackie said, still staring at Bruce. “We could do that.”

“You don’t think it’s a bad idea?” Bruce asked him. “Honestly?”

There were not enough words in the English language to express how bad of an idea it was. “They don’t know Owlman is dead,” Jackie said, shaking his head. “If we only have until tomorrow, it’s the best plan we have.”

“It’s the only plan we have for getting this bomb away from them,” Three Face said thoughtfully, her expression excited. “Imagine what we could do with a bomb.”

“You’re not thinking about using it, are you?” Bruce said.

“We wouldn’t need to set it off to make it useful,” Three Face said with a laugh. “The CSA might actually listen to our complaints if we had a bargaining chip like that. And anyway, you don’t seriously think we should give it to your _father_ , do you? The man would use it to take over Gotham himself. He’s a fascist in training if I’ve ever seen one.”

“So you’re just going to keep the bomb in the house here?” Bruce said incredulously. “What, just shove it under Eddie’s bed?”

Three Face grinned, although it was mostly just a show of teeth. “We can put it in a safe place.”

“Forget it. I’m not going to work with you if you’re going to steal the bomb for yourself,” Bruce said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Three Face studied him, still smiling. “You don’t trust me?”

He gave her an unimpressed look. Jackie held up his hands between them.

“We’re not keeping the bomb,” he said. “We need to get it from them, so we’re not going to endanger the mission over this, okay?”

Three Face inclined her head. “Fine,” she said.

Bruce nodded. “Okay.”

Jackie looked between both of them and then nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now let’s talk about a plan.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jackie got out of bed around six the next morning, when he finally gave up on trying to sleep. The apartment was dark, but that was more due to the lack of windows.

Three Face had set him and Bruce up with an air mattress on the floor by the foot of Eddie’s bed. Her own bedroom was barely large enough for the bed she slept in, and Jackie knew she always had a problem with other people sleeping in the same room as her. Back when they had lived together, Jackie had grown used to falling asleep with Three Face at his side and waking up to find her sleeping in a different room.

Bruce rolled over when Jackie sat up. He blinked blearily up at Jackie. “Time is it?” he mumbled.

“Ten past six,” Jackie said, running a hand through his tangled hair. He glanced towards the computer monitors around them, which were all sleeping. Eddie breathed evenly from his own bed. “Go back to sleep.”

Bruce yawned and sat up as well. “Nah, I’m awake.” He got to his feet and then held down a hand to Jackie. Jackie let Bruce help him to his feet.

They moved quietly into the kitchen, shutting the sliding door behind themselves. Jackie flipped on the light and glanced towards the small window high on the wall, which was showing the faint glow of early morning light.

Bruce poured two glasses of water from the tap and handed one to Jackie. “Sleep well?”

Jackie shrugged. “The usual.”

“Have you been taking your medication?” Bruce looked faintly concerned.

“I’m fine,” Jackie said. “It’s just hard to sleep on the air mattress.” He drank down the water and opened the fridge. There was a small amount of food in there. He remembered suddenly how Eddie had loved to cook elaborate dishes some nights for dinner and he felt a stab of pain. He shut the fridge.

“Wanna go out and buy some doughnuts?” he said. “I need to see some sunlight.”

“Please,” Bruce said. He drained his glass and set it down. “Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

##

The morning had dawned bright and clear, not a cloud in the sky. Humidity was rising off the streets already. The air had a fresh early morning quality to it.

“It’s the little things that make this place look so different,” Bruce said, looking up at the skyscrapers as they walked down the sidewalk. “The buildings here are older than in my Gotham.”

“The buildings are taller in yours.” Jackie stepped out of the way of a dog walker with six dogs on leashes. “It looks strange to me too, now that I’ve gotten used to yours.”

There was a bakery two blocks down. Pastries sat in the window display. The sidewalk tables were empty, as most of the people heading in and out of the bakery were on their way to work.

“Do you think people will recognize me?” Bruce asked, looking in the window.

“He wasn’t as much of a socialite as Bruce Wayne,” Jackie said with a smile. “You’re safe.”

They stepped into the bakery. It smelled richly of baking things and for a moment they both stopped and breathed in the smell.

“What about you?” Bruce asked in a low voice. Jackie stopped by the glass display case, looking at the doughnuts and muffins and croissants.

“I didn’t make quite as big headlines here, either. I guess we were just not fame whores here in this Gotham.”

Bruce snorted. “Do you think Eddie will want anything?”

He regretted the question when Jackie furrowed his brow, staring into the case, his smile fading away. “He always loved croissants.”

“We’ll get him some,” Bruce said quickly.

Jackie ordered a selection of pastries and coffees and paid for them with some of the money Three Face had given them, and then they headed back out of the shop.

“Let’s sit for a little while,” Jackie said, dropping down into one of the sidewalk tables and hooking his cane on the back of the chair. “I need a break before we walk back.”

Bruce sat down across from him, taking one of the coffees from the cardboard tray. It seemed strange to say it, but he hadn’t been able to sit outside like this since well before he met Jackie. Since Owlman revealed his secret identity, Bruce was no longer able to go out in public where people might recognize him. Jackie had the same problem. There was something to be said for being able to walk into a bakery and buy something, or stroll down the sidewalk in daylight and watch the people walking by. Those were the little pleasures of city life that Bruce hadn’t realized he was missing until now.

Jackie pulled a muffin out of the paper bag and broke it in half, pushing it across the table to Bruce. Bruce snagged a piece and then leaned back in his chair, watching the shops open up across the street. It was going to be a hot day, he could tell.

“Are you really okay with the plan?” Bruce asked quietly.

Jackie took a sip of his coffee, his eyes fixed on a family walking down the street. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“You don’t seem okay.”

“I’m fine.” Jackie glanced at him in irritation. It was certainly enough to tell Bruce that Jackie wasn’t fine with it, if he hadn’t already figured that part out. Bruce could certainly understand it; he probably would have been a little unnerved if Jackie had needed to dress up as the Joker, especially if the Joker had attempted to gut him just six months ago. But then again, Jackie hadn’t been okay with this whole trip. Bruce felt a little tingle of guilt for making Jackie come here to this Gotham with him. True, he would have been lost here on his own, but he hadn’t hesitated before accepting Jackie’s obviously reluctant approval of the trip.

“Tell me about the CSA,” he said after a pause, lifting up his coffee for another sip. People bustled past them into the bakery. Jackie glanced warily towards them, waiting for them to pass.

“They’re led by Ultraman, who we saw yesterday. Or at least, he was always considered the leader, although Owlman was the smart one. He’s married to Lois Lane, who calls herself Superwoman.”

“Really? Superwoman? Ultraman? Are they full of themselves or what?”

“I think they just like having a whole intimidating persona,” Jackie said, smirking. “Batman.”

“Ultraman doesn’t sound intimidating. It sounds like a brand of condom.”

Jackie snorted his coffee and then shot a glance at the people walking past. “Don’t say that too loud,” he said, coughing.

“Who else is in the CSA?”

“There were others, although they haven’t been around too much lately. There‘s Johnny Quick,” Jackie said. “And, uh. Power Ring.”

Bruce looked at him, raising one eyebrow. Jackie looked away, his lips tilting up. When he glanced back, he made the mistake of catching Bruce’s eye and they both burst into laughter.

“They’ve got a lot of people working for them,” Jackie said after he could get control of himself again. “They’re into all sorts of organized crime, betting, drugs, anything they can get their hands in.”

“Sounds a lot like the mob in Gotham.”

“Pretty much the same thing, yeah.” Jackie picked at muffin crumbs from the paper bag. In the sunlight, Bruce could see where his hair was growing out from the purple dye. He’d helped Jackie dye it a month ago, even though Jackie hadn’t been the Jokester for a while. Jackie said he liked the purple.

“I wouldn’t do this if I thought there was another way,” Bruce said quietly. “I just can’t think of anything else to do.”

“I know,” Jackie replied. He pushed back his chair. “Come on, they’re probably waiting for us.”

##

The suit was laying on the foot of Eddie’s bed like an autopsy. Three Face, Jackie and Bruce all stood around it, surveying it critically.

“What are we going to do for those wing things?” Bruce asked. It was the one glaring difference between this suit and the one that Owlman had had in Gotham.

“You don’t need them,” Three Face said. “Just tell them you got tired of them.”

Bruce snorted. “You think they’ll believe that?”

“Ultraman’s not the brightest crayon in the box,” Three Face replied with a shrug. “Just don’t get too close to Superwoman. She, uh, knows Owlman a little more…intimately.”

He widened his eyes at her in horror and Three Face laughed. “Don’t worry. You’re practically identical. She won’t notice the difference.”

“Are you willing to bet my life on that?” Bruce asked.

Three Face grinned and didn’t answer. Bruce glanced at Jackie, who was staring at the costume distractedly.

“Is it okay?” Bruce asked him.

“Huh?” Jackie looked at him. “Oh. Yeah. It’s fine.”

Bruce saw Three Face fix her eyes on Jackie. She came up next to him and slid her arm around Jackie’s elbow. “Hey, come help me check the van over. We haven’t used it in a few weeks.”

“Sure,” Jackie said, letting her pull him to the door and leaving Bruce behind.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Bruce looked down at the suit again. He picked up the pieces and began putting them back into the paper bag. He would need to get dressed soon, but he was going to put that off until the very last moment and it seemed blasphemous to leave the suit lying there on Eddie’s bed.

“How’s it going?” Eddie asked, sounding curious.

“Fine,” Bruce said shortly, putting the bag down beside the bed. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around the room, feeling awkward. The air mattress had been deflated and rolled up, giving them a little room again. There was a bookshelf against one wall and set of weights stacked neatly against another, but otherwise the room was mostly bare. Bruce saw a picture frame on the book shelf and picked it up.

In the photograph, a man and a teenage girl sat on a park bench, both of them smiling into the camera. The girl had auburn hair and dimples and lavender eyes that were just like Jackie’s. It must have been Duela. Bruce could see the resemblance in the pointy chin and the quirk of the smile.

The man in the photograph had dark hair and wore sunglasses, but there was something about his grin that was startlingly familiar to Bruce. He frowned at the picture, trying to figure it out.

“This photograph here,” he said turning to the bed. “The one with the man and the teenage girl. Is it you and Duela?”

“Probably,” Eddie said. “In the park?”

“Yes.”

“That’s us.”

Bruce took the picture and went over to the chair next to Eddie’s bed. He sat down. “You look so familiar, like I’ve seen you before.”

“Maybe you have,” Eddie said with a shrug. “Maybe you met me in your world.”

“Maybe…” Bruce said thoughtfully. “What’s your full name?”

“Edward Nygma,” Eddie said. There was a smile in his voice. Bruce rolled his eyes.

“E. Nygma,” he said.

“It was really just a coincidence that I became the Riddler,” Eddie said lightly.

“Sure.” Bruce put the picture frame down on the bedside table. “I don’t know any Nygmas.”

“How about a Dawes?”

Bruce froze, his hand still held out towards the picture frame. He fixed his gaze on the Riddler’s smiling face in the picture. Dawes. Rachel Dawes. That was the face that he was looking at. It was the same hair color, the same cheek bones. That was exactly it.

He turned his head to look at the masked man on the bed. “It can’t be,” he said softly.

The white mask tilted in his direction, blank eyes looking at him. “Who is it?” Eddie asked in curiosity. Listening to him, Bruce could hear it in his voice.

This world was like a parody of his world. Here were Edward Dawes and Evelyn Dent, both lovers of the Jokester, both badly scarred and nearly killed in an attack orchestrated by Owlman. And in his world, Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent, both close friends of Batman, both burned in an explosion created by the Joker. Was this how it was here, coincidence after coincidence? It was almost as if someone had created this as some sort of a cruel joke. In his world, the attack on his parents had turned him into a vigilante. In this one, the attack had turned his older brother into a criminal. It felt like everything had been put together just for him.

“Rachel Dawes,” Bruce said. “She was a close childhood friend. She was killed by the Joker.”

Eddie was silent, the mask staring at him. Bruce pushed away the feeling that the mask could see him. He sat back in his chair.

The apartment door opened and Jackie and Three Face came in. “The van’s all set,” Three Face said. “We’ll head out in an hour”

##

The pavement shimmered with a haze of heat in the sunlight, well on its way to another roasting hot day in Gotham. The docks moved lazily in the late morning light, cranes swinging to move boxes from freighter to ground or back. The ocean glittered under the sun with sparks of light that were too bright to look at.

Three Face’s white van idled in the shipping yard, parked behind a few stacked shipping containers. The windows had been blacked out in the back, which would have been suspicious except that in this Gotham, vans like this were a big flashing sign to Look The Other Way. No one would harass them in this van.

Bruce sat in the back of the van, his mask in his hands. He was waiting for the last minute to put it on. The suit had fit for the most part, although it was a little loose in places where he had lost muscle definition after the injury. When he touched the stomach panels, he could almost feel the ragged scar of his flesh underneath, where he had been shot. But this suit was not that suit. He was going to be fine. Bullets couldn’t get him here.

“It’ll be fine,” the Jokester said to him, watching him stare at the mask. “You just need to distract them for a little while. We’ll get the bomb from them and then we’ll distract them so you can get away.”

“Yeah.” Bruce put the mask down on his lap. It was just the two of them in the van right now. Three Face had left them half an hour ago to patrol the docks.

The Jokester tugged on Bruce’s arm, pulling him in for a kiss. He was wearing his makeup and suit, which was the first time he had worn it in six months. He looked comfortable in it. Bruce wished he could be comfortable in his suit, but he just kept thinking about the gun going off and the feel of the bullet hitting the back panels of his suit from the inside.

The Jokester pulled back. “Just don’t die of heat stroke out there,” he added. Bruce rolled his eyes. He could already feel the sweat trickling down his sides.

The back of the van opened and Three Face climbed in. “I saw Wayne’s men in position out there,” she said. “They’re just waiting for our signal.”

“You were gone a long time. There weren’t any problems?” Bruce asked.

Three Face gave him a withering look. “No problems,” she said. “We just have to wait for the CSA to arrive.”

She sat down next to the Jokester. She, too, was wearing her costume. He face was streaking with the makeup. Her clothes, a body suit that had been sewn together from three different outfits, were tight-fitting and easy to move around in. She had a gun holster strapped to her thigh.

“The boat has been sighted in the harbor,” Eddie’s voice came through the speaker in the dashboard. “It should be there in five minutes.”

Three Face peered out the windshield towards the docks where the CSA took its shipments. “They should be showing up--ah, there they are.”

A black car rolled into the lot, just forty feet from them. Bruce could see it through the gap between the shipping containers. It had tinted windows and was very expensive looking. It pulled up to the loading dock and stopped. The chauffeur got out and opened the back door and the man they had seen yesterday climbed out. He was wearing sunglasses and had a light suit jacket slung over his shoulder. He leaned against the hood of the car, his face turned to the harbor.

The boat came closer, approaching the dock. People scurried about on the deck. It was a smaller boat than a lot of the freighters around here but was still rather large. The men on the boat and on the dock tied the boat into place and then lowered a gangplank.

A woman strolled down the ramp. She had a mane of dark hair and was wearing a white sundress as if she had been on vacation. Behind her, a man walked holding a large wooden crate. It was the bomb.

“Time to go,” the Jokester said to Bruce. Bruce swallowed and pulled the cowl over his head.

He caught a flash of expression on Jackie’s face that he couldn’t read when he raised his hand again. Jackie looked away.

“Come back safe,” Jackie said. Bruce climbed out the back of the van.

His heart was beating hard against the inside of the suit, almost choking him. The mask against his face was slippery and although it was tight, it almost felt as if it was going to slip out of place when he turned his head. He reached up and adjusted it, then licked his lips. He could do this.

The pavement was a lot hotter than the air conditioned van. He skirted the shipping container and stopped at the corner, looking across the lot towards the boat, where Ultraman and Superwoman were having a reunion. The man with the bomb was heading for the car.

Bruce took a shuddering breath and came out from behind the shipping containers, missing the flow of his cape. He put a forceful stride into his walk. “Ultraman,” he roared.

Ultraman and Superwoman turned. The expressions of surprise on their faces were almost comical. He continued to approach.

“Owlman?” Superwoman said in shock. “Where have you been?”

“I told you where I was going,” Bruce snarled at her. “What has been going on in this city while I was gone?” He turned an accusing glare on Ultraman. “I saw those riots yesterday.”

Ultraman looked affronted. “I’ve been trying to stop them from rioting,” he said. “Someone’s riling them all up. They accused us of murdering a bunch of children.”

“And it had nothing to do with your stepping on them until they decided to fight back?” Bruce asked dubiously. He could feel his heart racing in terror but it was distant, and far closer was the rush of adrenaline keeping him going.

“Someone needed to put their foot down around here,” Ultraman said, his lip curling in disgust. “The cockroaches here have been running loose for too long.”

“That’s the whole problem,” Bruce replied.

“We’re taking care of it,” Superwoman drawled, sounding bored with the fight. “Where did you come from, anyway?”

“I saw you yesterday,” Ultraman said. “You were running around with that clown. What were you doing?”

“That was where the ring dropped us off,” Bruce said coolly. “He somehow made his way to the other Gotham to fight me. I took him back.” He fixed his gaze on Ultraman. “Because giving the people a little harmless rebellion gives us a little excitement in our lives.”

“We’ve got our own answer to the problem,” Ultraman said, nodding towards the car. “No one is going to be messing with us when we have that to hold over their heads.”

“And they’re really going to believe you would destroy the city you’re trying to control?” Bruce asked, raising his eyebrows.

“There are other cities,” Ultraman said with a careless shrug. “Once we do it to this one, the next one won’t cause us much trouble, will it?”

“You’re going to go through all that trouble?” Bruce resisted the urge to glance back towards where Jackie and Eve were waiting. They were waiting for him to get to the bomb before they would provide him with covering fire.

“I thought you liked a challenge,” Ultraman said with a cold smirk.

“We don’t need to detonate it yet,” Superwoman said. “We can see how they react to it first. Maybe it will solve all of our problems.”

Ultraman turned towards the car. “Let’s get out of this heat,” he said in irritation, striding for the car.

“After you,” Superwoman purred, sliding her hand around Bruce’s waist. She grabbed his ass and squeezed and he jumped. He heard her laugh.

“Relax, he can’t see us,” she murmured. Bruce didn’t answer, heading for the car. Ultraman glanced back at them, his expression faintly suspicious.

Footsteps slammed the pavement to their right. Bruce turned, his hand yanking a owlarang from his belt, taking a step back. It was all the reaction time he had.

Owlman was sprinting across the pavement towards him.

It took Bruce a moment for his mind to put a name to the face because it was so impossible, and yet there it was. He was dressed in his Owlman costume, the feathered wings flapping behind him. His mouth was twisted in a snarl of rage.

Superwoman recoiled from both of them, drawing a gun and keeping both of them in sight. Ultraman had turned from the car and was fumbling for a weapon.

Bruce braced himself just as Owlman slammed into him. He shunted Owlman off the side, trying to knock him off balance. Owlman staggered and fell, then bounced back up to his feet with a ferocity that was entirely foreign. Bruce had fought this man before and there was something very wrong. This was not the Owlman he knew.

“What the hell is going on?” Ultraman said and Owlman whirled on him, his owlarang bare in his hand. Ultraman’s gaze jumped from Owlman’s costume to Bruce’s, obviously searching out the differences, but Owlman attacked him before he could say anything.

Superwoman’s gun wavered between Owlman and Bruce, looking shocked. Owlman’s knife sliced a line down Ultraman’s cheek. Ultraman shoved him away with a roar.

“Shoot him already,” he shouted. Superwoman pulled the trigger and Owlman staggered sideways, his suit absorbing the blow.

##

“Time to go,” Three Face said, jumping out the back of the van. Jackie climbed out after her.

“Who the fuck is that?” he asked in horror, staring across the lot. It looked just like--

“Cover me,” she said, shoving a gun into his hands and starting around the shipping container. She drew her second gun. He hurriedly checked the clip and then aimed towards the CSA.

Three Face kept low, heading for the black car. Jackie heard sirens start up and five police cars poured into the lot. Commissioner Wayne had apparently decided to move in as well.

“They’re going for the bomb!” Superwoman shouted, turning towards Three Face. Jackie fired in her direction as she squeezed off a bullet towards the car. Her bullet hit the side of the car and Jackie cringed, thinking of the bomb inside. Three Face yanked the back door open and fired into the car, apparently taking out the lackey who was sitting inside. She grabbed the crate and heaved it out. Jackie fired at Superwoman again, forcing her to duck behind the hood of the car.

“Drop your weapons,” someone shouted through a megaphone. The police were hiding behind car doors and aiming down on the CSA. Bruce looked like he was rolling on the ground with someone.

Three Face started jogging back to Jackie. Jackie shot towards Superwoman again. She shot towards him and he ducked back behind the shipping container.

Ultraman let off a wild shot towards Three Face and Jackie heard Superwoman bellow “Don’t shoot at that! Are you insane?”

Three Face came around the shipping container and shoved the crate into the back of the van. “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing Jackie’s arm.

“Not without Bruce!” Jackie said, yanking his arm free.

“We need to go,” Three Face snarled. “Now.”

Jackie stepped out from behind the shipping container and started towards the car. The lot was in chaos. Superwoman was exchanging fire with the police, who were moving in with riot shields. Ultraman fired at Jackie and he ducked, his knee almost giving out. Another van had barreled into the lot. Bruce was still fighting with the other man, who Jackie could see more clearly now. And he was--he was--

##

Bruce twisted his face to the side and Owlman’s blade glanced off his cowl. His heart was pounding in his ears so hard that he couldn’t hear anything else. He shoved Owlman off of him, drilling his elbow into the man’s chest plate. Owlman let out a grunt.

Owlman tried to get back to his feet and Bruce kicked him in the chest, sending him end over end. Bruce used the distraction to scramble around the side of the car, putting some room between himself and Owlman.

Someone grabbed his arm and he flinched away, but it was the Jokester, dragging him to his feet. “Come on,” the Jokester said, shooting a glance towards Superwoman and Ultraman and the police. Bruce staggered to his feet.

They made a run for it across the lot, ducking behind some shipping containers. The Jokester threw open the back of the van and urged him inside. Bruce climbed in and the Jokester slammed the doors shut behind him, then circled the van and jumped into the driver’s seat. He hit the gas and the van leaped forward.

“Wait!” Bruce said. “What about Three--”

The Jokester looked at him in the rearview mirror, shocked. Bruce stared back, suddenly taking note of the green hair, not the purple. This was the wrong van. Three Face wasn’t here. And that was _not_ Jackie.

##

Jackie shoved Bruce into the back of the van and climbed in after him, shutting the door behind himself. “Go,” he shouted to Three Face, who hit the gas.

The van fishtailed and then went shooting out of the lot, throwing Jackie and Bruce back against the doors of the van. Jackie struggled to right himself.

“Can we drive a little more carefully with a bomb back here?” he called in annoyance, then glanced towards Bruce. “Are you okay?”

Bruce lifted his head and stared at him, sitting up. His eyes were wide and blank, as if he had been hit on the head. The wings of his costume shifted as he raised his hand. Wait. Wings?


	6. Chapter 6

Thomas Wayne Jr. had been eleven when he killed someone for the first time.

There had been times in his life when he had wanted to kill, in the way that boys do, but he had never really known what it would be like. When he thought of death he thought of a cat laid out for dissection, its guts exposed to the air. He thought of his pocket knife and his father’s magnifying glass. The cat had died quickly, smothered under water so that its internal organs would be intact when he opened it up.

His brother had died quickly too, but that was different. Bruce had died eating a bullet, his brains exploding into mash out the back of his skull. Up until that point, Thomas had seen brains as gray rubbery things that you could slide out of the skull easily in one piece. Seeing it in projectile form had been surreal, and Thomas had at first wondered how his mother had gotten oatmeal on her shirt before he suddenly realized what it was.

And so death, to him, had been two things. When he was angry, death was something messy, something sudden and loud and hot. When he was calm, or when he was trying to sleep at night, death was methodical, cold, and silent.

Death was a cat held in his backpack underwater until it stopped struggling.

Death was his brother, answering a question asked by a cop.

Joe told him that death could be other things, too. Death could involve hospital beds or cold nights out on the street or too much alcohol or dirty needles or stepping into a street without looking both ways or falling down the steps and landing wrong.

That last one was one that Thomas figured out for himself. Joe had told him never to look around when he walked down the street because policemen would see that and think that you were lost and then they would ask where your parents were and they would take you away. Thomas got really good at looking straight ahead whenever he was walking by himself, but one day he got caught when he bumped into a woman coming out of a store and they had both fallen down and a policeman had helped the woman gather up all her packages and then turned to Thomas and said “Say, where are your parents?”

Thomas didn’t want to tell them the real answer because they had killed his family and he was afraid they would kill him next, but he didn’t really know Joe’s name because everyone called him something different (Joe, Joey, Joe Chill, Chilly, Chillum), so he said that their names were Mr. and Mrs. Smith and he was supposed to meet them right down the street.

And so there was a police car ride as they went looking for Mr. and Mrs. Smith and a long wait and questions and social workers and the police station and more questions. They kept reassuring Thomas that he wasn’t in trouble, but they wanted to make sure he was okay. He looked into their eyes and knew that if they knew who he really was, they would just shoot him with their guns, so he closed his mouth and didn’t say a thing.

One of the social workers, a large woman named Ms. Perry who told him to call her Maddy, said that she was going to take him down to the cafeteria to get some soda while they tried to figure out what to do with him. She said his parents would probably call the station looking for him, so he wouldn’t have to wait too long. She asked him if he wanted to watch some television. He said yes and then pushed her down the stairs.

She fell and hit the bottom and went very still. He went down to check on her, gaping at the way that her neck bent. It wasn’t like the cat or like Bruce; this was different from both of them. He filed it away in his head and then made a run for it.

He met up with Joe later that night, back under the bridge where Joe slept sometimes when it was warmer out. Joe thought that the police had sent him to lure Joe out of hiding and so he backed Thomas against the bridge with a broken beer bottle for a while before Thomas could talk him down. Thomas was still buzzing over the feeling of getting away from the enemy. He kept hearing the snap of a neck in his ears.

It was another two years before Thomas had a chance to kill again, but that was mainly because Joe wasn’t the type to kill people, even though he was always looking for new ways to get money out of people. The man would always look at Thomas sideways when Thomas casually mentioned armed robbery or mugging, and Thomas sometimes wondered if Joe could read his mind and see that Thomas didn’t care about the money; all he wanted was to feel the recoil of a gun in his hand when he pulled the trigger.

In the summers they would stay in the spot under the bridge where a lot of the other homeless in the city would live, and in the winters they would try to get on the waiting list at one of the homeless shelters. Sometimes Joe would get enough money to rent them a room for the night, but only on the coldest nights in the year. The rest of the time it was okay to sleep outside. Thomas was tough.

The land by the bridge was unkempt with a lot of long grass and windblown trash. River traffic went under the bridge and cars went by overhead or down the edge of the river. They lived on a small strip of land that fell outside of the street lights. At night, sometimes Thomas would hear an owl hunting mice in the grass and it would remind him of a time in another life when the owls called from the trees on the manor grounds. Owls were flexible things that were as at home in the middle of pristine woods as they were in the city, scrounging for rats. They could swoop down on their prey so fast and silently that their prey wouldn’t even know it was dead.

Joe was superstitious about owls. He said the sound of an owl hooting meant someone was going to die, so he would cover his ears with a blanket when the owls were out hunting, leaving Thomas to sit alone and listen, watching the shadows flicker down at the edge of the water.

When Thomas was thirteen, Joe brought him to Boss Gordon. The Boss was a slightly heavyset man with lackluster dirty blond hair and a scraggly mustache. He didn’t seem very impressive, although Joe had been very respectful. Joe told him that Thomas was a smart kid, tough, and that he had a lot of potential. The Boss looked Thomas over and said “He’s a Wayne?” and then laughed and told Joe that Thomas would be welcome. Joe had left and Thomas hadn’t seen him again.

What followed were a few years of doing odd jobs for the city crime lord. Gordon let him sleep on the floor of the kitchen of one of his restaurants when it was cold out and gave him food in exchange for washing dishes and emptying trash. He also taught him how to hold a gun and once in a while would send him out with some of his other men to make the rounds and cash in on favors.

The system of favors was a complicated one, but it made sense in Thomas’s mind. You could do something for person A, maybe give him a little money, and then he would owe you a favor. And if person B asked you for a favor, you could do one for him too. And then when you wanted to cash in the favor, you could go to person A or person B and get small favors back, or you could go to their boss, person C, and ask for a bigger favor. Technically then person A and B would then owe favors to person C and you and person C would be even. Thomas had a head for this sort of thing, and in a little while he found himself in charge of keeping track of Gordon’s books.

He was good at what he did. It didn’t matter what it was that he did; whatever it was, he was good at it. The guys would take him out shooting targets sometimes and after figuring out what the kickback felt like, Thomas could hit the target every time. The guys looked at him with surprise and clapped him on the back and told him that it was beginner’s luck, but it didn’t have anything to do with luck. It had to do with logic. Once you take into account the recoil and the distance of the target and the caliber of the gun and all the other tiny factors, you could hit the target every time. He didn’t quite understand what was so hard about it.

The first time he shot someone with a gun, he took special note of the experience because it had been something he had been wondering about for quite some time. Yes, a moving target was harder to hit, but it gave a lot more feedback when you got in a good shot. People moved in all sorts of unpredictable ways, which made shooting them that much more challenging.

Still, over time the patterns began to emerge, and Thomas had it down to a formula in his head. Hit most people with a bullet and they’ll drop to the ground, even if they’re not badly hurt. It’s just human nature. Dogs don’t react the same way. Hit someone in the hands or feet and they’ll act as if they’re in more pain that if you hit them in meatier areas, because the worse the injury, the faster adrenaline sets in. The people who don’t know any better, the ones who don’t have guns of their own, will usually hold up their hands as if they want to block the bullets, or as if Thomas will see that they’re unarmed and will decide not to shoot.

He never did.

So Thomas did odd jobs here and there, not just for Gordon but for other people. When he made money, he budgeted it and parceled it out to other people when they needed it. He was not being charitable. He was building up favors.

There came a point when Thomas was sixteen that he cashed them in. He had been banking on these favors for a while. He did Gordon’s ledgers and he knew what they were worth. He kept track of everything that was owed him, and when he turned sixteen, he asked to meet with Gordon. Gordon still saw him as a little kid, but Thomas was persistent. Gordon finally agreed.

They met in one of Gordon’s restaurants. Thomas was not nervous. He never had been nervous around Gordon. Gordon smirked when Thomas sat down across from him. All of his bodyguards seemed amused too. Thomas clasped his hands on the table and told Gordon that he wanted his own territory. And no, he was not going to pay dues to Gordon. Gordon owed him this favor. He showed Gordon the ledgers of all of the favors he had built up.

Gordon turned very serious at that point and his bodyguards were suddenly less amused. “You don’t know what you’re asking, kid,” he said.

No, Thomas explained, he was well aware of what he was asking. The favors he had built up were equal in value to enough startup capital to carve out a large chunk for himself in Gotham. He could invest it in strip clubs or bars and get a good business going. With this amount of power, he could very well rival Gordon, although he didn’t say that last part.

Gordon looked at Thomas’s ledgers and said nothing for a while. Finally he rubbed his chin very seriously and told Thomas that while it was very obvious that Thomas had thought this through, he didn’t know if Thomas was ready for it yet. Thomas was sixteen years old. Technically he couldn’t own property or open a bank account. He would need someone, possibly Gordon, to cosign on any loans. As competent as he was, he was not going to get much respect from anyone simply because he was so young.

Thomas informed him that he could handle that.

“You’ve been a good kid,” Gordon said to him. “If any one of my men had come to me with this deal, I would have tossed them into the river, but I like you, Tommy. I’m going to give you a deal.” He jabbed his finger at the table surface. “You think people will respect you because you can kill them? Any kid can kill if you give them a gun. Go give them something to be afraid of. Get out of Gotham for a while, and when you come back, I want you to be someone who my men would follow. I’ll listen to you then.”

Thomas left Gotham that night, and he didn’t stop until he got to Bhutan.

##

Bruce dragged himself into the front passenger seat as the Joker swung the van around in a U turn. “How did _you_ get here?” the Joker asked incredulously.

“Stop the van,” Bruce said, snapping on his seat belt in case the Joker decided to hit the brakes.

“And why are you dressed like _that_?” the Joker added, ignoring his request. They swerved back into the lot, where the gunfight was still going on. There was no sign of Owlman, and Bruce couldn’t see the other van.

“They took him away,” Bruce said, feeling a surge of fear. Owlman was going to attack them before they realized it wasn’t him.

“That bitch,” the Joker muttered, swinging the van around yet again. They left the lot. Bruce could see a few of the police officers staring after them in confusion.

“Stop the van,” Bruce said through gritted teeth. He yanked the owlarang from his belt and jammed it up against the Joker’s neck, not cutting but letting the Joker feel the pressure.

The Joker hit the brakes and the van squealed to a stop in the middle of the street. He whirled on Batman and there was a knife in his own hands. He forced it hard up under Batman’s outstretched arm, the point digging just into the armpit of the suit, where the armoring was practically nonexistent and Batman’s axillary artery pumped blood to his heart.

For a second they both sat in a deadlock, glaring at each other.

“Go on, then. Get out,” the Joker said.

“You get out and leave me the van,” Batman replied.

“You’re not going to cut me,” the Joker said in derision.

“You killed Alfred.” Batman pressed his lips into a thin line.

“I did.” The Joker grinned. “And you _still_ won’t kill me.”

Batman met his gaze. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to kill the Joker right now. This was why he had come to this Gotham: to stop the Joker from whatever his plans were. He could end it right now. Of course, the Joker would most likely get him too, and Batman knew that he wouldn’t survive the knife in his armpit any more than the Joker would survive having his throat cut. No more than Owlman could have survived it.

“Tell me what is going on,” Batman said quietly.

“Tell me where that bitch is going,” the Joker replied.

“What bitch?”

“Three Face.”

“How do you know her?”

“The longer we sit here, the further away she gets with that bomb.”

Batman knew that, but he couldn’t seem to lower his arm. He could feel hate bubbling up in his throat. That was the only word for it. Pure, vicious hatred.

For a second the Joker’s eyes flickered, and Batman knew that the Joker had seen that emotion in him. The corners of the Joker’s mouth tilted up.

“We were working together,” the Joker said. “We were saving Owlman for, ah, _just the perfect time_ , and she ruined the plan by taking him before he was ready. Now _where is she_?”

“Owlman couldn’t have survived that.”

“He didn’t.” The Joker seemed content to leave it at that.

The engine of the van rumbled away. There were police sirens in the distance. The sun beat down on the van and hot, dusty air swirled in the window, stirring the Joker’s hair.

Kill him. Cut his throat, kick him out of the van, take the van to go find Jackie.

He couldn’t do that.

“Where were you keeping Owlman?”

The Joker jerked his head slightly, as much as he could with the knife at his throat. “I’ve answered enough of your questions. Quid pro quo, Clarice.”

He shouldn’t tell the Joker where Eddie and Three Face had been staying, but they were running out of time. The longer he sat here, the more time Owlman had to slaughter them all. And Batman had no doubt that Owlman would slaughter them if given a chance. The creature that Batman fought at the docks was not the Owlman he knew before, possessed of a rational mind.

“Take a left up ahead,” he growled finally. He eased the knife away from the Joker‘s neck.

The Joker let his own knife hand drop and put the van back in drive. He hit the gas and the van screeched down the street and around the corner.

“How’s things with the old flame?” the Joker asked, amusement in his voice.

Batman held the dashboard as they swerved around a car and headed down the road towards the city.

“Take a right,” he said, ignoring the question. The Joker obeyed, ignoring a stop sign. A car horn blared. Bruce gritted his teeth.

“What were you and Three Face working on?” he asked.

The Joker sent him a sidelong glance. “She looks a lot like Harvey, doesn’t she? Same dimpled little chin.”

“Turn right. It’s the brick building with the green steps.” Bruce held onto the seat as the Joker slammed the brakes.

There was no white van on the street at all. Where else could Three Face and Jackie have gone? Could Owlman have taken them hostage? He hadn’t seemed capable of it, and Bruce hadn’t seen the van crashed somewhere on the way over here.

The Joker was looking at the window at the apartment building. “Here?” he said.

Bruce unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the van. “Wait here,” he said.

The Joker double parked the van and bounded after him, catching up as Bruce opened the building door. Bruce didn’t have time to make him stay away. He took the stairs three at a time and then banged on the door to the apartment.

It unlocked with a click, which meant Eddie was at the controls. Bruce rushed in. Eddie was just sitting up in bed, his face turned towards them.

“Where is Three Face?” Bruce burst out. “Where did the van go?”

“Who…?” Eddie said blankly, his face towards the Joker. Bruce spared a second for the absurdity of the situation, that Eddie the blind one could tell that the Joker was a stranger when Bruce hadn’t been able to.

“Owlman was there. I think they left with him,” Bruce said. “I know you have GPS on the van.”

Eddie dragged one of his keyboards closer. He tapped on the keys and one of the monitors unmuted itself with a chime.

“Vehicle not found,” said the computer calmly.

“That’s weird,” Eddie said, typing something else in. Bruce could see a map on one of the screens, but the blue pointer was quivering, unable to find a spot. “What could have happened to the GPS?”

“Three Face happened to the GPS,” said the Joker, a faint smirk on his face, his eyes narrowed. Eddie’s mask turned towards him in silence, obviously recognizing the voice.

“This is the Joker,” Bruce said.

“You think Three Face disabled it on purpose?” Eddie asked, his voice very quiet.

“Yes,” drawled the Joker, looking around the room. “So she’s not coming back here.” He turned for the door.

Bruce grabbed his shoulder, jerking him back. “Where is she going?” he growled.

“How would I know? She’s obviously trying very hard not to be found. She has the bomb. She has Owlman.”

“How did she even get Owlman? You said he died.”

The Joker leaned in, a smile playing around his lips. “There’s a shot for that nowadays.”

“Dr. Ducard,” Eddie said in realization.

“Ducard?” Bruce asked. “Who--? Ra’s al Ghul?”

“That’s another name he goes by,” the Joker said.

Bruce started for the door, dragging the Joker with him. “We need to go see him,” he said.


	7. Chapter 7

Dr. Ducard had a free clinic in the Narrows, just a quick drive away. The Joker drove and they arrived a few minutes later. The Joker managed to find a parking spot this time and they both got out.

Bruce had forgotten that he was wearing the Owlman suit, so it took him a moment to understand why the clinic emptied of people mere seconds after he strode in. The Joker pushed open the door next to the receptionist’s desk without stopping and Bruce followed.

Dr. Ducard was in with a patient when the Joker shoved the door open. He took one look at the Joker, then at Bruce, and his eyes widened. Bruce fought not to stare just as obviously. Ducard was the identical twin to the Ra’s al Ghul he knew.

“Could you excuse me for a moment?” he said to the patient, who was staring at Bruce with a look of terror. She didn’t respond. Ducard ushered them out into the hall and shut the door behind himself.

“Where is Three Face?” Bruce asked him.

Ducard glanced from him to the Joker and back. “You’re a little too coherent to be Owlman,” he said.

“She took him this morning, didn’t she?” the Joker asked him.

Ducard glanced down the hall towards his empty waiting room, then sighed and gestured for them to follow. He walked down the hall towards a door marked PRIVATE and unlocked it with a key around his neck, then went through.

They stepped into a small room where a cot had been set up with an IV. The bed was empty and looked as if it had been vacated in a hurry.

“She took him at gunpoint this morning,” he said, pointing to the bed. “I told her he wasn’t ready yet but she was insistent.”

“How is he even alive?” Bruce asked.

Ducard glanced at him. “I’ve been developing a serum to generate cell growth. It helped reverse the damage done to him by his injuries, including the damage done by death.”

“But what was wrong with him when he attacked us?”

Ducard inclined his head. “That’s the problem. The human mind has no capacity for that kind of shock. Even when I administer the serum for someone who is merely wounded and still alive, it takes them days or even weeks to recover mentally, and they tend to revert to a vicious primitive state. He was dead for three days.”

“Why did you even try to revive him?” Bruce asked him blankly.

Dr. Ducard sighed, glancing towards the empty cot. “Nostalgia,” he said simply. “He was a student of mine. I intended to turn him into the police when he was mentally capable of it.” Ducard glanced at the Joker. “Of course I didn’t tell you that.”

“What were your plans?” Bruce asked the Joker.

The Joker shrugged. “We thought a crazy, bloodthirsty Owlman might do some interesting things to the CSA.”

“Looks like we all had secret plans,” Ducard said dryly. “I can’t say that I know what Three Face was up to. She was in a bit of a hurry this morning.”

“She has a bomb,” Bruce said. “Last night she was talking about using it on the CSA. Today she escaped with Jackie and Owlman.” He shook his head, already turning for the door.

The Joker followed him back down the hall. “Where are you going now?”

“I have someone else to talk to,” Bruce replied, stepping back out into the waiting room. “I don’t need you to come with me.”

“I’m going wherever you are,” the Joker said. “You’re not finding her before me.”

##

The Jokester scrambled back away from Owlman as fast as he could. “Eve!” he yelped. Owlman was flailing about to get his balance as the van made another sharp turn.

Three Face glanced over her shoulder at Owlman, maneuvering the van out of the lot. “There’s a green box on the floor,” she said. “Open it.”

“This is Owlman,” Jokester said.

“Open the green box,” Three Face said more urgently. There was a long, thin box on the floor of the van, sliding away from him. The Jokester grabbed it and flipped it open. There was a syringe inside.

“It’s a sedative. Use it.”

The Jokester grabbed the syringe from the box and turned back to Owlman, who lunged at him with a snarl. The syringe bounced off the Kevlar suit. The Jokester kicked Owlman away in a blind panic, then plunged the syringe into his neck. Owlman batted at it but the Jokester had already injected it into his neck.

This must be what fighting a bear feels like, the Jokester thought as he held up a hand to block another blow and then rolled out of the way of a slashing owlarang. There was no plan behind his attack but he was powerful and vicious and that was enough.

Owlman’s owlarang scraped off the side of the van and then clattered out of his fingers. He lurched sideways, trying dumbly to catch himself, then slid down to the ground, his face going blank. The Jokester edged away from him.

“Could you tie him up while you’re at it?” Three Face asked.

The Jokester glanced at her. The van had merged into traffic and she was looking out the windshield. “Turn around. We have to go back and get Bruce.”

“I don’t know how long the sedative might last, so you’d better tie him up quickly,” Three Face replied, turning a corner. “I’ve got handcuffs on my belt.”

The Jokester unhooked the handcuffs from her belt and cuffed Owlman, who was lying in a heap on the floor. The man’s eyes were just open to slits and his face was slack. His cowl was still torn from where Batman had ripped it six months ago. The Jokester tugged off the cowl and tossed it away, revealing his face. He looked just like the Jokester remembered, and was most definitely alive. There was a wide purple scar across his throat.

He took the owlarang away and searched him for weapons. When he had collected them all, he sat back on his heels, staring at Owlman. There was a weird, fuzzy feeling in his head. Everything felt as flat as a piece of paper.

“He’s not dead,” he said quietly.

“He got better,” Three Face said flippantly.

The Jokester held one of the owlarangs in his hand, his fingers gripping the handle. Owlman, or rather Thomas Wayne, lay on his back, breathing slowly. The Jokester reached out and touched the owlarang to his throat, then stopped. Thomas made no move, his eyes still mostly shut. His breathing didn’t change.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I would say it’s an extreme Oedipal complex, to be honest.”

The Jokester got to his feet and climbed into the passenger’s seat. “What. The fuck. Happened.”

Three Face sent him a look. “Our darling Dr. Ducard happened to him. Apparently Bruce’s Joker showed up here with Owlman’s body and managed to get Ducard to help him out. Don’t ask me how he convinced him to bring that serial killer back from the dead when he won’t even help Eddie.”

“And you knew about it how?”

“The Joker and I have mutual hobbies.” Off his look, she smiled a little. “Taking out the CSA. We’ve been working together. He had some plan to use Owlman against the CSA. The thing about Ducard’s treatment is that it drives the patient insane for a while. He thought that if Owlman was running around the city mindlessly killing people, it would help us promote our cause.”

The Jokester looked out the windshield. “You didn’t turn around,” he said in realization. “Bruce is still at the docks. We have to get back there!”

“We have other plans,” Three Face said.

“Turn this van around now.” The Jokester held out the owlarang.

“You’re not going to kill anyone,” Three Face said with a shrug.

“For Bruce? I’ve done it before.”

She glanced at him. “Bruce is going to be fine. Those were his father’s men, and his father knew the plan. He’s not in any danger. But if we go back to him now, he and his father are not going to let us finish our plan and use the bomb to negotiate with the CSA.”

Jackie hesitated. She was right about Commissioner Wayne, and Bruce hadn’t exactly been helpless. He lowered the owlarang and glanced into the back of the van, where Owlman was staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“Where are we going, then?” he asked.

“Somewhere where we won’t be disturbed,” Three Face said.

“Do you even have a plan?”

“I always have a plan.” Three Face turned the van down a side street. They were in the more residential part of the city, where there were detached houses with actual yards. It was a poorer neighborhood and a lot of the yards were overgrown and scraggly. The Jokester knew this neighborhood by heart.

“Your father still lives around here, doesn’t he?” Three Face asked, continuing down the street. She made a left at the end of the block, which told Jackie that they were probably headed to her childhood home.

“I guess,” Jackie said. “If he’s still alive.”

“He is.” Three Face reached her mother’s driveway and pulled in, bringing the van to a stop.

“Are we really stopping at your mother’s house?” Jackie asked, staring out the windshield.

“She won’t mind.” Three Face got out of the car.

Jackie got out as well. Under the trees, everything was thick and humid here. Three Face’s mother’s yard was overgrown with weeds nearly as tall as Jackie was. The windows all had blinds pulled down and the screen door on the front had a torn screen panel. Three Face opened the back of the van and grabbed the crate with the bomb.

“Help me get him in the house,” she said, lifting the box out and heading for the front door. Jackie glanced down the street. A few houses down, some people were hanging out on a front porch, but no one seemed to be paying them much attention. His knee was aching from the running he had done earlier.

Three Face disappeared inside the house and then came out again a moment later, leaving the front door open. She came around the back of the car and stared in at Owlman. “If we didn’t need him, I’d kill him now and save us the trouble of carrying him.”

“You wouldn’t kill him,” Jackie said. He exchanged a glance with Three Face. There was a look in her eyes that told him maybe he didn’t know her as well as he used to.

She grabbed Owlman’s feet and yanked him towards her. “I think I got him,” she said, grabbing him around the waist and lifting him onto her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She staggered back a step, then caught her balance. “Just get the door for me.”

The Jokester moved ahead of her and pulled the screen door open. Three Face carried Owlman inside and headed straight for the basement door. The Jokester let the screen door slam shut behind himself.

He was in a dark living room. All the shades were drawn. There was a television playing in the corner and an old woman with white hair was sitting in an armchair in front of it, staring at the screen. He stepped over to her.

“Mrs. Dent?” he asked tentatively.

She turned her head towards him. “Yes, dear?” she asked, her eyes wandering vaguely in his direction.

“How…are you?” He moved further into her range of vision.

“Fine, thank you.” She blinked at him. “Oh dear, it’s a clown.”

“Don’t bother,” Three Face said from the basement doorway. “She’s got dementia. She’ll forget your whole conversation in a minute or so.”

“Isn’t there someone to care for her?” The Jokester glanced back at Three Face.

“A nurse comes in every day. She’s already been in here today. We’ll be out of here before she comes back tomorrow.” Three Face went into the kitchen and he heard her banging around.

“You put him downstairs?”

“He’s down there. Go on and visit him if you want.” She sounded sarcastic. “Try not to kill him before we can question him.”

The Jokester went to the basement door and opened it. The rickety staircase descended down into a dimly lit basement room. He stepped inside.

He went down five steps and then sat down, resting his cane against the railing. From there he could see a large dog kennel sitting in the middle of the room. Owlman was folded up inside it, still sedated. The dog supplies had been dragged out of the cage and piled up on the far wall. Jackie could remember Eve’s family having a golden retriever a long time ago. It was probably long dead by now.

Owlman’s mask was still off and must be in the van. He was wearing the rest of the costume, which was stained with blood in a few places. Some of the blood looked old.

 _Want to see me gut your twin?_ Owlman had said to the Joker.

Jackie closed his eyes.

There wasn’t a day in the last six months that he hadn’t thought about what happened in the penthouse. He still felt terror when he thought about it, a visceral fight or flight response that wouldn’t go away even after six months, but more than that he felt confusion and guilt. Whatever Owlman had done to him--and there were days that he was fuzzy on the details--he hadn’t been entirely against it. Or had he? What was wrong with him? His chest was tight and his thoughts felt like they were racing. When was the last time he had taken his medication?

Jackie’s eyes flicked open when Owlman shifted in the cage. Owlman rolled onto his back, blinking muzzily up at the ceiling. Jackie reached for the railing, tempted to get to his feet and retreat back upstairs, but it seemed that Owlman had no intention of moving any further.

The door upstairs opened and Jackie flinched. Three Face came down the steps and stopped next to him.

“Well he’s not going to bite,” she said, looking towards the kennel. “I mean, unless you stick your fingers in the cage, probably.”

She was holding a silverware tray that seemed to be full of sharp objects. Jackie straightened up. “What are you doing?”

“I told you we needed to question him,” Three Face said, continuing down the steps. Jackie got to his feet and came down the steps after her, holding the railing.

She went to the cage and dropped the silverware tray next to it with a crash. Owlman jerked in the cage, one hand reaching out and grasping the bars. Three Face unlocked the cage and yanked open the door, then took hold of Owlman’s foot and dragged him out.

“I don’t need your help if you’re squeamish,” she said, rolling Owlman onto his stomach and uncuffing his hands. She cuffed one of his hands to the cage, then grabbed his other hand and pulled him up. He lolled in her grip. She took a second set of handcuffs from her belt and cuffed his other hand to the other side of the cage, stretching him out in front of the opening of the cage.

“I don’t think he’s capable of answering any questions,” Jackie said, looking down at him.

“He will be.” Three Face squatted down and unzipped the front of Owlman’s suit, exposing his chest. She grabbed another needle from the tray, where there were several. This one was an autoinjector. She jammed it into his chest.

Owlman’s whole body bowed and he let out a choked noise. The cage creaked as his arms bent, veins standing out like ropes. Three Face took a step back, tossing the injector away.

“Adrenaline wakes him right up,” she said.

Owlman tossed back his head, making an inhuman sound. The scar on his neck stood out in grotesque relief. Three Face squatted down and picked up an owlarang from the tray. She looked at its keen edge, then glanced at Owlman.

“Thomas?” she said quietly. “Can you hear me?”

Owlman was panting. Jackie could see the vein pulsing his his neck. His heart must have been beating hard. Owlman licked his lips.

“Thomas?” Three Face took a step closer. “Owlman?”

Owlman grunted and then mumbled something that Jackie couldn’t make out.

“Owlman?” Three Face reached out and caressed his face. He seemed to be sweating. “Owlman, I have some questions for you.”

He jerked his head away from her fingers. She laughed and hooked a finger inside of his cheek, dragging his head back. “I’m talking to you.”

He let out a guttural sound. Three Face put the blade against his teeth and pushed, forcing it in between his teeth. He tried to pull back, clamping his teeth shut, but she grabbed a handful of hair, holding him in place. The blade slid in between his teeth and then she twisted it, forcing his mouth open. She grabbed blindly for the set of pliers.

“Stop it,” Jackie said, stepping forward. “This isn’t questioning him.”

“I have to show him that I’m serious first,” Three Face said distractedly, pushing the pliers into his mouth. She clamped down on something.

“I said stop it,” Jackie said loudly, grabbing her wrist and trying to pry her fingers off the pliers.

“This isn’t the Wayne you’re fucking,” Three Face snapped. She yanked hard on the pliers and they came out of Owlman’s mouth with a bloody tooth. Owlman let out a gurgling noise.

“Torturing a brain-damaged man is sick,” Jackie returned.

“He’s tortured us both in the past,” Three Face said. She tossed the tooth away, still holding Owlman’s hair with her other hand. She turned her attention to him. “I want to know where the Crime Society has their hideout.”

“He can barely talk.”

“He doesn’t have the mental capacity to lie to me,” Three Face said.

“The Three Face I knew would never do this.”

“You never knew me,” she spat. “You always thought I was the weak little girl you fell in love with.”

“We don’t torture anyone!”

“You _killed_ him. How is this _worse_?”

“It was quick. I don’t want to hurt anyone. He’s _brain damaged_ for God’s sake.”

“Sometimes you have to sacrifice healthy tissue to get at the tumor.”

Jackie felt a chill run through him. The look in her eyes was bright and wrong. She was too fervent. He took a step away from her.

“How many people are you going to kill with that bomb?” he said shakily.

She just laughed.

He turned for the stairs, hearing her continue to laugh. He grabbed the railing and went up as fast as he could, forcing his knee to bend even though it didn’t want to. When he reached the top of the stairs, he stepped out into the living room.

The crate was not where Three Face had left it. He glanced around the living room, then went into the kitchen. Not there. He went down the hall.

Three Face came up the stairs. “Good luck,” she said in a sing-song. “I put it in a safe place.”

“You can’t do this to Gotham,” Jackie said, looking around her mother’s bedroom. There was no crate. There were any number of places where she could have put it. Had she put it back in the van? He had been down in the basement for a good half hour before she came down. Where was it?

“Why do you want to save them? This whole place is a tumor,” Three Face said, coming in the doorway behind him. “All of these people have hurt us. Owlman. Ultraman. Superwoman. Your father. The police are corrupt. The politicians are corrupt. The rapists and murderers and pedophiles all get away with their crimes if they pay the right people. There isn’t time to pick and choose and get our personal revenge on them all. Don’t you want them to die?”

“I want to stop the CSA, and the CSA alone,” Jackie said, whirling on her. “And if they are killed in the attempt, fine, because there’s not a judge in this city that would convict them of anything. But I am _not_ going to kill all eight million people in this city just to wipe the slate clean. The CSA is the source of all of that trouble and once they’re gone, we can fix the rest.”

“The CSA is a _symptom_ ,” Three Face said. “They’re just a few big examples of what’s going on everywhere in this city. The Joker and I have been working on trying to get these people to riot against the CSA and fight for their own freedom and you know what? They’d rather take the abuse.”

“So you think they should die?”

“I don’t much care if they live.” Three Face crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you would understand, of all of them. They’ve stepped on us. They’ve knocked us down. We’ve been kicked so many times, Jackie. It was just you and me, remember? And then they took that away from us too. They killed Duela. They destroyed Eddie’s face and they won’t fix him. They took my arm.”

“Duela’s not dead.”

“No? So you’d rather think that she’s out there alive somewhere, not thinking about us at all? You’d rather she hates us?”

“What if she’s living in this city? You’re going to kill her too?”

“If my daughter has been living in Gotham for the past fourteen months while Eddie and I were in recovery, not once checking to see if we were even still alive, maybe I don’t care if she dies.” Three Face’s voice was bitter but Jackie could tell that on that point, at least, she wasn’t being entirely truthful.

“We’ll find some way of fixing this,” Jackie said softly. “We don’t need to just wipe them all out. We can make it better.”

Three Face’s eyes narrowed. “You are so naive,” she said in disgust. She turned and left the doorway. Jackie went after her, leaning heavily on his cane. He could feel his knee swelling up from his run up the stairs.

She disappeared downstairs again and Jackie went down after her, going slower this time. When he reached the bottom, she had the pliers again.

“We’re going to play dentist, okay?” Three Face snarled at Owlman. “I’ll take out your teeth while you try to answer my questions.” She jammed the pliers into his mouth.

He jerked his head back. He seemed to have recovered from the adrenaline and was looking around the room with a little more clarity in his gaze. His eyes fixed on the Jokester, who froze at the bottom of the stairs. Owlman made noises around the pliers as if he were trying to speak.

Three Face yanked out another tooth and he cried out. “What was that, sweetie?” she asked. “Say that again?”

Owlman said nothing, probing around his mouth with his tongue. Three Face tossed the tooth away. The Jokester stepped away from the bottom of the stairs and approached them.

“It’s not a hard question, but go on and take your time. I’m really enjoying this,” she said.

Owlman’s gaze rose to her face and he spat blood at her. She laughed, wiping it off her chin.

“That's another tooth right there, whether you want to tell me or--”

Jackie injected the sedative into her shoulder. Three Face let out a surprised noise and grabbed for it but missed. He injected half of it and tossed the syringe away.

“Sorry,” he said, catching her as she started to sag. He lowered her gently to the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

There were more ways to kill than Thomas had ever dreamed. He made his way down South America for a while, checking in with the drug cartels and the vicious government regimes but never really settling down. He learned how to kill in creative ways, but there was something missing from his training. This was brute violence. There wasn’t elegance in it. If any kid could kill if you gave him a gun, certainly any kid could kill if you gave him a machete or napalm or any of the other methods that Thomas saw in action. It didn’t appeal.

He left the continent and crossed the ocean to South Africa and worked his way back up north, then took a right at the mediterranean and headed into Asia. The Italian mob held no interest for him. Sure, they had their own creative ways of murder, but they were too similar to Boss Gordon and his men. It wasn’t anything especially new.

What he began to realize was that killing someone wasn’t special at all. Causing pain wasn’t difficult. Human bodies were fragile things. Murder was nothing that could be described as art any more than shitting could. If everyone was capable of it, there was nothing special in doing it. Using a weapon to kill was nothing.

But _becoming_ the weapon--turning yourself into something that could kill in perfect silence and stillness--that was art. If you removed the whole spectacle of murder, you could find the true beauty inside it. There was something clean about it. Someone was alive, and then with a breath of air or a flick of a shadow they were dead, and there was no middle point of mess and violence. Ideal death was quiet and methodical, like the death of the cat. Not random violence like the death of his brother.

In a jail in Bhutan, Thomas met a man named Ducard. The man stood out in the prison with his white skin and blond hair and perfectly tailored clothes, and even though he was surrounded by desperate killers with empty eyes, it was obvious that Ducard was a dangerous man. He didn’t need to threaten or posture or even change the tone of his voice. He was just dangerous. He told Thomas about a mountain, about a blue flower, and about a way of life.

Thomas accepted his offer of training, leaving the prison and heading across the country to that particular mountain with those particular blue flowers on its slope. He brought it to the doors of the temple and the men took him in, and in the rest of his time there, he learned how to cleave life from flesh.

Ducard was not just a master swordsman. He was a surgeon as well, and part of his training involved medical knowledge. “We are not here to learn how to become killers,” Ducard said. “We preserve life as well as end it. We kill to bring justice to places where no justice is possible.”

The village around the temple would bring their sick and dying to Ducard, and Ducard would help where he could. Thomas would watch on in silence as Ducard stitched wounds or administered medicine or, on occasion, performed more extensive surgeries. Once in a while, when someone in the village died, he would perform autopsies to show Thomas the insides of a person. He would talk about the uses of all the internal organs and what could happen when they were removed. He would talk about the muscles and how they connected. He had Thomas memorize hundreds of terms and body parts. He taught Thomas how to stitch and how to stop bleeding. Life is delicate, he said. In order to kill, you must know how to save a life, and in order to save a life, you must know how to end one.

It made Thomas think of his father then, standing there with Ducard. His father had never let him attend surgeries, of course, but he had some of his tools at home and not too long before his death he had talked to Thomas about medicine, about saving lives, about surgery. Thomas had spent hours in his father’s study while his father was away, reading the anatomy textbooks and staring at the drawings of humans with their skin flayed away to muscle.

##

Occasionally when Thomas and Ducard were not training, Ducard would retreat to his laboratory to work on a project that he didn’t like to talk about. Thomas admitted to a rare curiosity then, especially when Ducard refused to talk about it. “It’s just a theory right now,” he said. “It’s nowhere near implementation.”

Ducard spent most of his time trying to improve the situation of the villagers who lived around them. There were always problems to solve. Water was scarce in the tiny mountain village in Bhutan. They lived on the edge of a glacier but too much of the runoff was washed away in the brief warm season, leaving them with nothing to drink. This would lead to times when the villagers would be left with no water at all. First the animals would die as their water was appropriated for the humans, and then the elderly would die, and then the children. Ra’s al Ghul’s men would of course help, trekking out to villages further south where the water wasn’t all locked up in ice, but water was scarce there as well and sometimes people would just die.

It only took three days without water to die. Within two, the hallucinations would start. Thomas found himself infuriated with the villagers, their big cow eyes begging him and the rest of the men for help. Why don’t you leave, he wanted to ask them. Why don’t you do something? This isn‘t the first time this has happened. Don’t fool yourself into thinking it’ll be the last.

When he voiced his frustration to Ducard, the man patiently explained that the people had been living here for thousands of years. Most of them did not have the kind of money it would take to move far enough away where things would be different. Moving would just make them refugees, taking them away from their family homes and neighbors and putting them somewhere else where the situation wouldn’t be appreciably better.

Thomas could believe those excuses, but he thought that there might be more to it than that. The village, which had no name as far as Thomas could tell, was in the middle of stark, incredibly beauty. The glaciers and the rock and the sky were all sharp as knife edges, washing everything out to a blue-white glare. The place was like insomnia. Just a little time there would get into your head and you would start dreaming about the flat white expanse of glacier at night. It was obsession. It could wash every other memory out of your head and make you think of nothing but the cold.

Yet Thomas sometimes dreamed of Gotham. It was like a mirage sometimes, so far away that he wasn’t sure it had ever existed. He didn’t idealize it in his dreams; it was a hot fetid thing, or a frigid thing as hard as a chunk of ice. Gotham was tall enough to scrape the underbellies of clouds and low enough to dip into the water that flowed underneath it and wide enough that it could take an hour to drive from one end to the other. It was teeming with life in a way that this place was not. People still died; they starved; they froze to death; they did unspeakable things, but in a way it held its allure. When the white of the glacier got into his head at night, Thomas would have his memory of Gotham to push it back, like spice on the back of his tongue.

People loved Gotham the way these villagers loved Bhutan. It didn’t matter how much it hurt them; it was their life, and they would take whatever it was willing to dish out.

For a while, Thomas believed that Ducard’s interest in saving the villagers was just the purely intellectual challenge of keeping them alive in an environment that did everything it could to kill them. Thomas could see the appeal. It was a tricky problem, and it required all kinds of experimentation and trial and error as they tried to develop water filtration systems and more efficient rainwater collection. If his life had been different, Thomas thought that maybe he could have become a doctor like his father, spending all of his time trying to come up with solutions for the problems that nature threw at him. Man would of course win out over nature in the end. He didn’t doubt that Ducard would solve the problem.

Thomas had never been one to wonder about possible futures, but Bhutan sometimes made him think about what his life would have been like if his family hadn’t died. He would never have come here if his family was still around. Would he have ever killed anyone? Would he even have a desire to? Was it the circumstances in his life that made him the way he was? If he wiped the slate clean, would he be someone unrecognizable, or was his personality inked indelibly on its surface, unchanged by what the world brought?

##

Owlman rolled his eyes up to look at Jackie. Jackie laid Three Face out on the floor, checking her pulse to make sure it was strong, and then looked towards the tray of tools. He could sedate Owlman again, but there would be no way he could get him up the stairs if he were unconscious. Perhaps he could give him only a partial dose.

Or maybe he could give him a triple dose and hope it killed him.

Jackie’s hand hovered over the syringes in the tray. There were only four left. It looked like this was Three Face’s supply from wherever she had gotten Owlman in the first place. If he was going to take Owlman with him, he was going to have to get more for him. If he wasn’t going to take Owlman with him, there was enough to do the deed now. It would be a quiet, gentle death.

Owlman spat more blood onto the floor. A string of bloody drool dangled from his mouth. “Shoke--” he slurred. His eyes wandered away from Jackie, and a faint line appeared between his brows. “Ster. Shoke…ster.”

The Jokester stared at him. There was an expression on Owlman’s face that he had never seen before. It was like the beginnings of a slow horror, as if Owlman was starting to understand that there was something terribly wrong with his brain. Owlman’s eyes flicked back to him.

The Jokester picked up one of the syringes and moved closer to Owlman. He squirted half of the contents of the syringe onto the floor, then fitted the syringe against Owlman’s neck and injected the rest. Owlman said nothing, still watching him.

Three Face had the key to the handcuffs in her pockets. Jackie took it out and then stood, uncertain. Owlman was drooping a little, his eyes heavy-lidded, but there was no telling how much strength he had left.

He picked up an owlarang from the tray. Owlman’s eyes fixed on it. Jackie clenched it tightly in his fist.

“I’m going to unlock you,” he said to Owlman, speaking slowly. “If you fight me, I’ll kill you. Again.”

Owlman said nothing and Jackie had no idea if he understood what he had said. Jackie reached out and unlocked one of the cuffs.

Owlman’s hand immediately went to his mouth, feeling around inside. Jackie watched him for a second, his heart beating loudly in his chest, then went to Owlman’s other hand. He uncuffed that one too.

Owlman dropped down to his hands and knees. Jackie grabbed his forearm and pulled him up to his feet and Owlman swayed, his mouth working. The owlarang bumped Owlman’s shoulder and Owlman flinched back, yanking out of Jackie’s grip. He fell over, crashing into the silverware tray. Jackie grabbed at the dog cage to keep his own balance.

They paused there, both of them breathing hard. Jackie bent down and picked up his cane from the floor where it had fallen. He held the owlarang so tightly in his other hand that it was digging red marks into his flesh. Owlman rolled onto his hands and knees again and tried to push himself up to his feet. He staggered a little and caught himself on the wall.

Jackie took one set of handcuffs and moved slowly towards him. Owlman eyed him warily.

“I need you to put these on,” Jackie said, keeping his voice low so the tremble wouldn’t be as noticeable. He continued to approach, holding out the handcuffs and keeping the owlarang down at his side, in the same hand as his cane. Owlman stayed where he was. Jackie stopped in front of him and tucked the owlarang into the back of his pants, then reached for one of Owlman’s hands.

The man was staring at him as if he was intently trying to figure out what was going on. He let Jackie close the handcuffs over his wrist and then stared at it in curiosity.

“Turn around,” Jackie said. Owlman did not move.

Jackie tugged him away from the wall by his cuffed arm and then grabbed for Owlman’s other hand. As soon as he got a hold of it, Owlman yanked it out of his grasp, apparently realizing what he was intending to do. He pushed away from Jackie, staggering to the wall again as he started to lose his balance. The handcuffs swung wildly on his right wrist.

Jackie found himself frozen in place again. Behind him, Three Face groaned on the floor. Owlman’s attention transferred to her and his eyes narrowed slightly. He pushed off the wall again, heading for her.

Jackie grabbed him as he went past. Owlman staggered into him, his limbs not quite under his control yet due to the sedative. Jackie took hold of the cuffed hand and yanked it back, quickly cuffing his hands together behind his back before Owlman could understand what was going on.

“We have to go,” he said urgently, pulling on Owlman’s forearm. “Up the stairs.”

Owlman paid no attention to him, lunging for Three Face again. Jackie stumbled with him towards Three Face, then yanked Owlman back again, pulling him towards the stairs. It was like walking a large, easily distracted dog on a leash. Owlman’s attention was entirely on Three Face. His chin was dripping with blood from his lost teeth.

Jackie went up the first step and pulled Owlman up with him. Owlman nearly tripped up the first step, then tore his attention away from Three Face to focus on the stairs. Jackie guided him up one step at a time, silently promising his knee an ice pack as soon as he got a chance.

When they were nearly at the top of the stairs, Jackie heard Three Face shift on the floor and swear softly. Owlman’s attention snapped back to her and he turned around on the steps.

“No,” Jackie growled, yanking on Owlman. “Ignore her.”

Owlman went down a step and Jackie took the owlarang from the back of his pants, pressing it against Owlman’s throat. “I said no.”

Owlman turned on Jackie with a snarl, the owlarang nicking into his throat with the violence of his move. He shoved his whole body into Jackie, knocking him back onto the steps. Jackie scooted up a step on his butt, scrambling away from Owlman, who still had his hands bound behind his back. Owlman followed him up another step and Jackie grabbed the front of Owlman’s ruined suit, holding the owlarang against his neck.

“I can cut your throat again,” Jackie said. “Want me to do it? No one will bring you back next time.”

Owlman stopped where he was, his expression still angry, his eyes fixed on Jokester’s face. He was breathing in short jerks.

Jackie eased himself up another step, then grabbed the railing and pulled himself to his feet. Owlman followed him with his eyes. The door at the top of the stairs was right behind Jackie.

“Come on,” he said. Owlman went up a step, then another. Jackie pushed open the door.

Three Face’s mother was still sitting in front of the television. Jackie hooked his hand around Owlman’s arm, steering him to the door.

“Bye, Mrs. Dent,” he called.

“Evie, dear, I think we have squirrels in the basement,” Mrs. Dent replied vaguely. Jackie pushed open the front door and guided Owlman out of the house.

The white van was sitting in the driveway. Jackie brought Owlman to the passenger’s side door and helped him inside, then buckled him into the seat. He went around to the driver’s side and got in as well.

His hands were shaking too much to start the car. He buckled his seat belt and then thumbed the button on the radio that should connect him to Eddie. “Riddler, are you there?”

There was nothing but static. Jackie checked the station but it was the right one. Owlman leaned his head against the window, his eyes scanning the neighborhood. Jackie sighed and picked up the radio, following the wires to where they should be connected. It had all been disconnected.

The screen door swung open on the house and Jackie glanced up. Three Face was standing in the doorway, leaning against the door frame. She was holding a gun. She aimed it towards the front tire of the van.

Jackie dropped the radio and fumbled for the keys. He shoved the key into the ignition and turned on the car. A bullet smacked into the grill of the van and Three Face adjusted her aim, frowning. She was too out of it to get in a good shot. The engine turned over and started.

Jackie threw the van into reverse and backed out of the driveway. Three Face squeezed off another shot, this one hitting the hubcap. Even drugged, she had pretty good aim. They bounced out onto the street and then Jackie put the car in drive.

He made it to the end of the street and turned, thinking furiously. He couldn’t take Owlman back to Eddie’s apartment. Even if Owlman was completely out of it, he was still a danger to them all. At the next stop sign, he reached for the radio again.

It just took a minute to reconnect everything. He turned it on again. “Riddler?”

“Jokester, is that you?” Eddie’s voice came immediately. “Where are you?”

Well, if Three Face had disabled the radio, it stood to reason that she had disabled the GPS as well. “I’m just leaving Three Face’s mother’s house. She’s got the bomb and she wants to use it.”

“Are you with her?”

“No.” Jackie glanced towards Owlman. “I have Owlman with me.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Jackie licked his lips, tasting greasepaint. “Is Bruce there?”

“He came back here and then left. I’m not sure where he went.” Eddie paused. “He had the Joker with him.”

The Jokester felt his stomach lurch. “Is he okay?”

“He seemed fine. They were both looking for you and Three Face.”

Jackie took a random left and drove down the street. “I don’t know what to do with Owlman,” he said. “He’s really out of it. He’s on sedatives for now.”

“Take him back to Dr. Ducard. He was the one who was taking care of Owlman,” Eddie said. “He can probably help.”

“Okay. Tell me where he is.”

Eddie gave him directions and Jackie headed that way. Owlman sat in silence, his earlier rage gone.

“I’m going to call Commissioner Wayne,” Eddie said. “I’ll tell him to check out Three Face’s mother’s house to find the bomb.”

“Do you really think giving it to him is the best idea?” Jackie asked uneasily.

“I can’t think of anyone else,” Eddie said. “I certainly don’t want it.”

“They’ll arrest Three Face as a terrorist.”

Eddie was silent. “Do you think that she’s going to detonate that bomb?” he asked finally.

Jackie thought back to the fervent look on her face. “Yes.”

“Then I’m going to call the police.”

Jackie sighed. “Okay. Fine. I’m nearly there. I’ll be back after I drop him off.”

“See you soon.”

##

“The first words I hear out of your mouth had better be the location of that bomb,” Commissioner Wayne said in greeting when Bruce entered the room.

Bruce stopped in front of his desk. “We have a minor problem,” he said.

Commissioner Wayne glanced over Bruce’s shoulder to the Joker, who was lingering in the doorway. “And you brought your friend,” he said, unamused.

Bruce glanced over his shoulder and saw the Joker’s face light up with hilarity. “He’s not--” he started, then sighed. “It’s complicated…”

“You must be the _daddy-in-law_ ,” the Joker said, coming up next to Bruce with a big smile on his face. “Brucey’s told me all about you.” He slung an arm around Bruce’s waist.

Commissioner Wayne’s eyes fixed on the hand and his eyes went very, very cold. Bruce removed the Joker’s arm from his waist.

“This is not Jackie,” he said. “This is the Joker. He’s from my world.”

Commissioner Wayne shifted his gaze to Bruce. “I should have known not to trust vigilantes to do the job,” he said, his voice glacial. “What happened to the bomb?”

“I think Three Face betrayed us,” Bruce said. “She went off with the bomb and Jackie and Owlman.”

“You told me Owlman was dead.”

“He is. Was.” Bruce glanced at the Joker. “He’s not anymore.”

“So where are they?”

“I don’t know.”

Commissioner Wayne’s face was a neutral mask. “And of course, if you knew, you’d tell me immediately.”

“Yes,” Bruce said. “I don’t know what Three Face is planning with that bomb.”

Commissioner Wayne planted his elbows on the table. “The thing I’ve found about vigilantes is that they tend to want everyone to obey the law except for themselves,” he said. “Yesterday I thought maybe I’d been too hasty with that belief, but…” He pointedly trailed off. “You expect me to believe you have no idea where the two of them have gone? You seem _close_.”

“Owlman is dangerous and I want them found now.”

“You always were good at covering up for other people’s crimes.”

Bruce set his lips in a thin line. “I am not your son, Commissioner.”

“I can put you in prison until you want to talk,” the Commissioner replied without acknowledging Bruce’s comment. “Do you think your… _friends_ will leave you here to rot, or will they come in here after you?”

“You would accomplish nothing.”

“I don’t think it would hurt to try,” Commissioner Wayne said with a shrug.

Bruce stepped forward and planted his hands on the Commissioner’s desk. Once again, he became aware that he was still wearing his Owlman costume. The blue and silver where he was expecting black was disconcerting. “I am not your enemy here. We both want to find the bomb. I don’t know anything about this city, but I want to help you find them.”

“Where does Three Face live?” Commissioner Wayne asked lightly.

Bruce stared back at him. “She’s not there.”

“If you want me to trust you, you’re going to have to give me more than that.” Commissioner Wayne laughed and shook his head. “You really haven’t changed.”

“Three Face won’t be going back home, and you know that,” Bruce said. “She knows that we will turn her in if she does. She probably is going to find some other place to hide out. I only came here to ask you please to contact me if you find her, because Jackie is with her and I want to find him.”

“Just giving me fair warning that she’s on the run with the bomb, then?” Commissioner Wayne asked.

“Are you going to arrest me?”

Commissioner Wayne met his eyes for a moment. “No. Go on. But if you hear the slightest rumor about where she is, you had better contact me.”

“I will,” Bruce said.

The phone on Commissioner Wayne’s desk rang. “Excuse me,” he said, lifting it to his ear.

“Any other bright ideas?” the Joker said to Bruce.

“I don’t know,” Bruce said. He turned away from his father’s desk. “I barely know her at all.”

“I see,” Commissioner Wayne said into the phone. “Take care of it, then.” He hung up.

“I’ll see you later,” Bruce said to him.

Commissioner Wayne hesitated, then said, “Fine. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

##

It was always when things got quiet in Wayne Manor that Thomas Wayne Sr remembered how large the place was. His sons made the place seem small with their laughter and shouts. When they were silent, that generally meant that they were up to no good and he was going to have to search the whole place in order to find them.

Sighing, he pushed back his desk chair, laying his pen down next to the notes he had been jotting down. He got to his feet and stretched. It had been a few hours since he had started with this and he needed a break anyway.

“Boys?” he called, heading out into the hallway. There was no response. He went to the end of the hall to the foyer and glanced down the staircase. No one seemed to be around, but he could hear someone crying downstairs.

He descended the stairs and headed into the formal dining room. The housekeeper, Mrs. Dawes, was crouching next to one of the chairs, where her own son was sitting. He was rubbing his eyes and crying messily. There was a dead leaf in his fine brown hair and a tear in the knee of his pants.

“What happened?” Dr. Wayne asked, although he was pretty sure the answer was going to involve his sons in one way or another.

“Oh, I’m sorry that we disturbed you,” Mrs. Dawes said, getting to her feet. “Eddie just got himself locked in the basement somehow.”

“It was Thomas,” Eddie said immediately, turning red eyes on his mother. “He said we were playing hide and seek and he was going to help me hide but then he left.”

Dr. Wayne sighed. “Where are they now?”

Mrs. Dawes gave him a tired smile. “I imagine they’re playing hide and seek from us now,” she said. “Here, I’ll go look for them.”

“No, you stay here. I can take care of this. I need the distraction anyway,” Dr. Wayne said, turning away. “Maybe Alfred knows.”

He left the dining room and headed back into the foyer. Across the hall was the entrance to the music room, where the grand piano sat next to the fireplace. Alfred’s small office where he took care of the estate finances was off a small hallway at the back of the room. He was sitting hunched over his desk, a cup of tea by his elbow and a pair of glasses on the end of his nose.

“I don’t suppose any boys have been in here?” Dr. Wayne asked, leaning against the doorway.

Alfred lifted his head. “Not that I’ve noticed, sir.” He took off his glasses and stood up. “I can check the greenhouse, if you like. That’s where they were last time I found them.”

“You look there. I’ll check the grounds.”

It was late spring and the air was warm and soft as cotton. In the after-dinner dusk, shadows gathered under the trees and hedges. The lawns rolled silkily down to the edges of the property. Dr. Wayne strode across the grass to a stand of trees a hundred yards away.

The boys were not in the stand of trees, nor were they down by the waterfall. But as Dr. Wayne approached the edge of the forest at the back of the property, he heard Bruce’s voice coming from behind some trees.

“You’re sure it’s not a coyote?”

Dr. Wayne stopped where he was. The ground was covered in dead leaves here and they would hear him if he continued any further.

“No, you moron,” Thomas’s voice replied. “It’s an owl. Listen.”

Further into the woods, an owl hooted again. It called three times, ending in a trill that did sound remarkably like a growling dog. Another owl answered it. Dr. Wayne squinted up into the tree tops and saw a shadow sitting in one of the trees.

“What does it eat?” Bruce asked, his voice a mixture of awe and dread.

“Cats, probably,” Thomas replied with all the confidence of a ten-year-old. “That’s probably where Eddie’s cat went.”

Bruce gasped. Dr. Wayne frowned, chewing his lower lip. Eddie’s cat had not been eaten by an owl, he was pretty sure. It had been carefully dissected by a boy’s Swiss army knife, and Dr. Wayne had disposed of the remains himself before Bruce or Eddie could see it.

Martha didn’t believe the boys had anything to do with it, but then she always did believe in the good in people. Wayne wasn’t so sure.

He strode firmly onto the dead leaves, approaching the place where the boys’ voices had come from. He heard the two boys scramble up and saw their shadows between the trees.

“Stop right there,” he said in his most forceful voice, the one that tended to stop them in their tracks.

The boys remained where they were. Thomas grumbled to himself. Dr. Wayne reached them, taking note of the guilty look on Bruce’s face.

“Someone locked Eddie in the basement,” he said.

“He’s a liar,” Thomas said sulkily. “He wanted to get us in trouble. He locked himself in there.”

“Is that how it happened?” Dr. Wayne asked mildly. He turned his attention to Bruce. “Were you there?”

“He locked himself in there,” Bruce said immediately, darting a glance at Thomas. “He said, um, he said he wanted Thomas to get in trouble for it because he hates him.”

Dr. Wayne saw Thomas smirk.

“That doesn’t sound like Eddie to me,” Dr. Wayne replied. “In fact, I think he quite enjoys playing with you boys. Why would he hate you, Thomas?”

“He’s jealous,” Thomas said. He had swallowed the smirk but Dr. Wayne could still hear it in his voice. “He wants our money because he’s a poor little kid with dirty clothes.”

“Don’t say that,” Dr. Wayne reprimanded him. “His mother takes good care of him. We have more money than most people, Thomas, but that doesn’t mean everyone else is poor.”

“Well I don’t know why he hates me, then,” Thomas mumbled.

 _Maybe because you lock him in the basement,_ Dr. Wayne thought, but he swallowed it. “We’re going to head back to the house and apologize right now, and then the both of you are going to stay in your room for the rest of the evening, understand?”

“Yes sir,” they both said quietly. Bruce’s lower lip trembled but Thomas’s face showed no expression at all. Dr. Wayne gestured them onward and they headed back to the house.

Later, after the apology, Dr. Wayne visited Bruce in his room. The boy was in bed, his face tear-stained. Dr. Wayne sat down on the edge of the bed.

“It was Thomas’s idea, wasn’t it?” Dr. Wayne asked him quietly, listening to the boy sniffle.

“It was mine,” Bruce said, his voice wet.

“It doesn’t help anyone when you lie for your brother.”

Bruce cried fresh tears but said nothing else. Dr. Wayne got up and left the room.


	9. Chapter 9

The streets in the Narrows were jammed with cars and people trying to head everywhere at once. Street vendors selling food and souvenirs and counterfeit designer bags crowded the sidewalks. The bits of sun that made their way down between the buildings lanced the air with heat. Owlman was drinking in the sights, his eyes flickering back and forth.

Jackie pulled the van into the only available parking spot, a couple blocks from the clinic, and then looked at Owlman. He was still in his costume, although it was unfastened down the front and he was not wearing his mask. His dark hair was matted to his head with sweat and his chin was painted red with blood where it had spilled from his mouth. Jackie turned off the van.

“Do those wings come off?” Jackie asked him. Owlman’s eyes danced over to him and then away again and he didn’t make any attempt to answer. It was really hard to tell whether Owlman could even comprehend what Jackie was saying.

Jackie unbuckled his seat belt and reached out to Owlman’s arm, feeling around the costume. The wing part seemed to be attached at the neck, elbows and wrists with clasps, which was good. Jackie hoped that if he got the wings off, Owlman’s costume might be unrecognizable enough to get them to the clinic.

He unclasped the wings and tugged them out from under Owlman, tossing them into the back of the van. His own jacket, the one part of his costume that he couldn’t quite bear to wear in this heat, was in the back of the van as well. He picked it up and shook it off and then draped it over Owlman’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Jackie said, taking a breath. He opened his van door and got out.

Owlman was docile as Jackie helped him out of his seat. Perhaps the sedatives were still doing their work. Jackie locked the van and then guided Owlman down the sidewalk, his hand tightly gripping Owlman’s elbow. The crowds parted for them, so maybe Owlman wasn’t as unrecognizable as Jackie had hoped.

The waiting room of the clinic was completely empty. The receptionist behind the desk took one look at them and wordlessly pointed to the door leading to the back rooms. Owlman’s steps had slowed. He obviously recognized the place, although Jackie couldn’t tell if that was a bad thing or a good thing.

Dr. Ducard met them in the hallway, his eyes flickering over both of them. “Is that Owlman or did you two get mugged?”

“Bruce was here?” Jackie stumbled forward a little when Owlman stepped closer to Dr. Ducard, a frown on his face. Dr. Ducard’s gaze shifted lazily to Owlman.

“That answers that question,” he said. “Back here.”

Ducard led them into a back room with a cot. “I assume he’s been sedated?”

“I don’t know how much,” Jackie said. “We sedated him in the van, then Three Face gave him a shot of adrenaline, and then I gave him half of another shot.”

“Then we won’t risk it again. You can uncuff him.”

Jackie uncuffed him and Ducard gently urged Owlman to sit down. Owlman obeyed. There were soft restraints on the bed that Jackie attached to Owlman’s wrists. Ducard took a wet wipe from a box and cleaned the blood off Owlman’s chin.

“Were you attacked by dentists?” Ducard asked, peering into Owlman’s mouth.

“In a way,” Jackie replied uncomfortably.

Ducard continued his examination, then turned away from Owlman, leaving him to sit on the bed. “He should be fine. I’ll start him on some antibiotics just in case. I saw you limping when you came in.”

“Ah, it’s just my knee.” Jackie shrugged, lifting his cane. “It does that.”

“I’ll take a look at it. Come in here.” Ducard pushed open the door and they stepped out into the hall. He brought Jackie into a small examination room next door. “Sit up there and roll up your pant leg.”

Jackie obeyed. Ducard poked at his knee, frowning. It was swollen from Jackie’s run up the stairs earlier and Jackie winced when Ducard poked at the side of it.

“I’ll grab you some ice and aspirin,” Ducard said. “I assume you’ve had it looked at?”

“They’re talking surgery,” Jackie said glumly.

Ducard gave him a sympathetic look. “I’ll be right back.”

He stepped out of the office. Jackie waited, swinging his legs over the side of the table. His face felt like the makeup was melting off of it, although it was nice and cool in here.

Ducard returned in a couple minutes with an ice pack and an aspirin. He gave both to Jackie, then filled a glass of water in the small sink and gave it to him. “Take the aspirin. It should reduce the swelling.”

“Thank you.” Jackie swallowed the aspirin, holding the ice pack to his knee. “Are you able to take care of Owlman? Can I leave him here?”

“He’ll be fine,” Ducard said. “I heard from the, uh, others that you and Three Face escaped with a bomb this morning.”

Jackie toyed with the plastic cup. “I guess she had bigger plans than we thought.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

Eddie must have already called the police on her. “Last I knew, she was at her mother’s house.”

“With the bomb?”

Jackie looked up at him. “Yes…”

“Be careful of this knee. You don’t want to damage it further,” Ducard said, turning to the cupboard. He took out an ace bandage. “I can wrap it up to immobilize it a bit for now, but you really want to look into that surgery.”

Jackie said nothing as Ducard wrapped it up. Ducard secured it with the velcro end of the bandage and then rolled Jackie’s pant leg down over it. “I’m sorry about this,” he added.

“About what?”

There was a brisk knock at the door. Ducard’s receptionist opened the door and leaned in.

“He’s in here,” she said. Two police officers came into the room, both of them looking at Jackie. Ducard squeezed out the doorway, leaving them.

One of them held up a badge. “Mr. Jokester, you’re under arrest.”

##

Bruce and the Joker descended the stairs to the entrance to the City Hall. The air inside was chilled with air conditioning, but Bruce could see the heat rising off the parked cars on the street outside.

Bruce took a breath and pushed the front door open, stepping out into the sidewalk. He glanced back at the Joker.

“He’ll have us tailed,” Bruce said.

The Joker turned empty eyes on him, obviously already aware of that. They both glanced towards the Joker’s van parked on the street, and then turned away from each other as one. The Joker slipped away into the crowd, disappearing within seconds. Bruce turned off in a different direction.

The bodysuit of the Bat costume was sticking to his skin, almost unbearably hot in this heat. He held the mask and cowl in one hand, striding through the crowd. It was still surreal to him to walk in daylight hours through the crowd in this costume, people giving him a wide berth, his face exposed to the public. He was going to have to be a little less conspicuous if he was going to get back to Eddie’s house without the Commissioner’s men following him.

He walked down three blocks, then took a left and walked down another two. This was the political center of Gotham, with the giant glass courthouse and the embassy buildings all towering up over the street. It was completely different from the neighborhood where Three Face and the Riddler lived. Instead of ethnic restaurants and bodegas, this place was crammed with classy sidewalk cafés and clothing stores with brightly colored displays. Cool air swept out of the propped-open doors and greeters handed out coupons. No one handed anything to Bruce.

People waited on line at a street vendor that was selling hot dogs and pretzels. Bruce avoided their gaze, hurrying down the sidewalk. If he could find a donation box for clothing, he might be able to get something to wear over this. He had no money.

This was the wrong part of town for donation boxes, though. After two more blocks he took a sharp turn down an alley and took his grappling hook from his belt. He peered up into the fire escapes overhead and then shot up towards a roof top. The hook caught on a crenellation a few floors down from the roof. He pressed the button and lifted into the air.

He had left his cape behind at Eddie’s house, since there was no way to change the color of the fabric and since it was too different from Owlman’s wings. Shooting up to the rooftop was incredibly different when he didn’t have a cape streaming around him. He felt lighter and more silent, but not quite as safe. If he fell, there would be nothing here to catch him.

He reached the ledge and climbed onto it, then looked behind himself as he reeled in the grappling hook. Wind tugged at his limbs. The street he had left behind was bustling with people and he couldn’t tell if anyone had been following. It was better to be safe, though. He had a feeling that his father would take Eddie into custody if he had the chance, if only to draw Three Face out of hiding.

He shot the grappling hook up to the roof, one hand wrapped around a window frame to hold his balance. His grappling hook had only a hundred feet of cable, which didn’t quite make it all the way up to the top of the skyscraper, so it would take at least two jumps to get all the way up. At least the buildings in this part of the city were old and close enough together that moving from building to building was going to be easier. The more modern skyscrapers in Bruce’s Gotham were sheets of featureless glass without a lot of ledges for climbing.

The hook pulled him up into the air again. Bruce watched the sky approach him, clear and cloudless blue. He caught the edge of the roof and clambered over, then reeled in his grappling hook again. It was time to head back to Eddie.

##

Every time Commissioner Wayne closed his eyes, he could see the death of his family.

The shooter was just some corrupt cop who wanted to take Wayne in for questioning. Wayne knew enough about Gotham to know what the story was about; it was the same reason that they would pull over cars or set up road blocks or come knocking on apartment doors late at night. They wanted a bribe, and they were entirely willing to throw you in jail on trumped up charges if you didn’t take the hint.

The thing about it was that even though Wayne knew that, he also held this ridiculously naive belief that if he just told the cop that he was on to his plan, he might shame the cop into letting him go. It was so incredibly stupid that even today he would clap his hand over his eyes in shame, but there it was. At the time, paying bribes to cops had hurt his pride and he was not going to stand for it.

They had just gotten out of the theater. The two boys had been poking each other and causing a fuss and so the only thing they could do was leave the play out the back door. The alley was dark but their car was nearby. Martha had separated the two boys and was reprimanding them as they walked. Her voice echoed off the walls of the alley, and they didn’t notice the cop until he had drawn his gun.

The humiliation of it. Being frisked up against the wall, his hands behind his head, while his kids looked on. The cop’s sneer and the casual way he held his gun. The anger in his chest at the way the cop _just didn’t care_ that what he was doing was blatantly illegal.

“I’m going to have to take you down to the station,” the cop had said. “We’ve got a couple questions for you.”

“I’m not going,” Wayne had said firmly, keeping his hands passively at his sides. “You have nothing to charge me with.”

“I’m going to have ‘resisting arrest’ in a minute,” the cop said, something dark trickling into his eyes.

“I did nothing wrong.”

The cop’s smugness had almost entirely disappeared and was replaced with the beginnings of anger. “You’re going to have to convince me.”

Wayne remembered wondering how many people would have just given in at this point. Of course, they didn’t have the power of the best lawyers money could buy behind them, and Wayne was planning on bringing this as high in the courts as he needed to.

“Do you know who I am?” Wayne asked him.

The cop gave a slow shrug. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“It will,” Wayne said, his voice glacial, and even as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“Dad?” said Bruce, his voice wavering and uncertain. Martha shushed him immediately but the cop was already turning to him.

The cop squatted down in front of Bruce. The anger wasn’t gone from his eyes but he put on a smile. Wayne felt his mouth go dry.

“Hey there, little guy. What’s your name?”

“Bru--”

The cop squeezed the trigger and the bullet buried itself in Bruce’s jaw, bursting up out the back of his neck. Wayne would later tell himself that the bullet had severed Bruce’s brain stem, killing him instantly, but he could almost remember Bruce’s eyes widening and his mouth moving as if he was trying to finish answering the cop’s question.

Martha was screaming at that point as if she would never stop. Thomas was--well, Wayne didn’t know where Thomas was at that point. Thomas seemed to be the only one of them who could comprehend what was going on. He must have already been running.

The cop shot Martha when she lunged for Bruce. His first bullet hit her in the gut, doubling her over. Wayne grabbed the cop’s arm and the cop fired again, this time hitting Martha in the thigh. He yanked his arm out of Wayne’s grip with a snarl and fired once into Wayne’s side, then shot him again in the chest. As Wayne fell to the ground, he watched the cop walk to the end of the alley, looking for Thomas.

Silence had fallen then. Martha was still alive, gasping harshly. Bruce was already gone, lying on the pavement between them. Thomas lay on his back, his hands clutching the hole in his chest. The night sky made an oblong shape overhead, dark blue laddered by a fire escape. Some sort of large bird, just a silhouette against the sky, winged its way across the gap.

He knew he was going to die. He could feel the blood squeezing out between his fingers. He listened to Martha’s breathing grow slower beside him. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand but his hands were too cold to move. He prayed fiercely that Thomas got away, and if that was impossible, he prayed that he died quickly, as Bruce had.

It was only when the sirens rose in the distance, someone miraculously reporting the gunshots, that Wayne actually began to cry.

##

The wand crackled when it was waved over Jackie’s hands, sounding like bacon grease frying in a pan. The police officer nodded, looking grim, and then left the room.

The Jokester sat down in the interrogation room, his hands folded on the table. They had searched him for weapons, which he had none. They had fingerprinted him. They had confiscated all of his possessions, including the ring off his finger. He had cringed when they had taken it, but there was nothing he could do about it. They packed it away with his belt and loose change.

He knew there were people watching him on the other side of the glass. He could see his own reflection, makeup sagging down his cheeks. There were sweat rings in his shirt.

The far door opened and a police officer came in, following by Commissioner Wayne. Jackie straightened up, startled. The Commissioner met him with a cool look and then sat down across from him. The police officer hovered by his shoulder.

They sat in silence for a moment, Commissioner Wayne scrutinizing him without expression. Jackie met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated.

“We know you were in possession of the bomb,” Commissioner Wayne said finally. “You have traces of radiation all over your hands.”

Jackie didn’t respond. Commissioner Wayne didn’t seem surprised. His lip curled up slightly.

“There was no one at Mrs. Dent’s house except for Mrs. Dent when my men arrived there,” Commissioner Wayne added. “Where is the bomb and where is Evelyn Dent?”

“I don’t know,” Jackie said.

“She didn’t happen to mention that part when she and you were making your big escape with the bomb? Or did she triple cross you?”

“We were going to give the bomb to you,” Jackie said. “She surprised me when she took us somewhere else.”

“Did she say what she was going to do with the bomb?”

“She said she was going to detonate it.”

“And you left her alone with it?”

“I didn’t have much choice.”

“No? Tell me what happened.”

Jackie stared at him. He had a feeling that telling Commissioner Wayne he had found it more imperative to save Owlman from torture than remove the bomb from Three Face was not going to go over well. “I looked for the bomb and I couldn’t find it anywhere. Three Face was torturing Owlman. I thought it was better to get him away from her, and I didn’t have time to search the house for the bomb.”

Commissioner Wayne let air out through his nostrils. “A bomb that size can take out the entire city.”

Jackie leaned forward slightly. “I don’t want it to go off any more than you do.”

“Then tell me where Three Face is. Do you have any idea where she might even think of going?”

“I think she knows that I’ll be looking for her,” Jackie said. “She won’t stay anywhere too long and she won’t go anywhere that I would think of.”

Commissioner Wayne studied him. “I don’t like vigilantes,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t like the way you think you’re above the law. I don’t like the way you pick and choose what rules you’re going to follow. I don’t know why I ever agreed to work with you. You people make my skin crawl. Gotham doesn’t need the help of people like you. It’s you people who have been stirring up these riots, having the citizens fight back against the police, and provoke even worse attacks from the CSA. If it weren’t for you people, the CSA would never have even tried to bring in a bomb like this one.”

“And you’re doing a better job?” Jackie scoffed. “You would rather everyone just sits around and takes it?”

“I’d like to continue having a city to live in,” Commissioner Wayne replied. “So I’m going to hope that you tell us how to keep it here.” He pushed back his chair and then paused. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring that they had confiscated from Jackie. Jackie involuntarily leaned forward, his eyes widening.

“Did my son give you this?” he asked coolly, turning over the ring in his hand. Jackie could see the inscription, _sic itur ad astra._

“Don’t lose it,” Jackie said, his voice tight.

Wayne smiled faintly and tucked it back in his pocket. He rose. “I’ll leave you to the interrogators.” He gave Jackie one last lingering look and appeared to find Jackie wanting. He turned and left the room.

##

The holding cell they kept Jackie in had benches all the way around and had only a handful of other people inside, most of them waiting to post bail or be taken away for interrogation. Jackie sat by the bars and looked out into the waiting room of the police station.

They had taken Owlman when they took him from Ducard’s. He had seen them take him out on a stretcher. Of course Owlman must be somewhere else in the police station, or perhaps even at the hospital. They were most likely processing him now. Wayne would want to finish that as fast as possible before the cops that had been bought by the CSA had a chance to muck things up. Jackie wouldn’t have thought that any member of the CSA would spend more than five minutes in jail, but apparently the CSA was preoccupied at the moment.

They had yet to give him his phone call, which wasn’t that surprising. He suspected that Commissioner Wayne was letting him stew for a while. For some reason, the man seemed to have a grudge against him, and Jackie was beginning to suspect that he knew about Jackie’s relationship with Bruce.

There was a faint rumble somewhere far away and Jackie felt the bench shake slightly, as if the monorail had just run through. Dust drifted down from the ceiling fan in the main part of the room. Jackie watched the motes turn in slow motion as they fell. Maybe it was a big truck passing by?

There was another rumble, louder this time. The police at their desks began glancing around. Jackie looked around at the others in his cell. They seemed mildly interested. Not a truck, then.

The fire alarm went off suddenly and the sprinklers came on, pouring water from the ceiling. Inmates and police alike jumped up with shouts of dismay as lukewarm water came gushing down from the ceiling, soaking everything within seconds. Jackie felt the water soak through his hair and plaster it to his face. He didn’t get to his feet. There was no point in bothering his knee further just for a bit of rain.

One of the policemen came to the door of the holding cell. “We’re going to get you out of here,” he shouted over the gush of the sprinklers. “Everyone get in a line.”

Jackie sighed and struggled up to his feet. Two policemen opened the door and then began guiding them out of the cell and down the hall to the front doors.

As they neared the front doors, a third rumble much greater than the first two shook the hall. They hurried forward a little faster and stepped out into the parking lot, which was fenced in. The sun was beating down and it immediately turned Jackie’s water-soaked clothes into a sauna.

Smoke was rising from the roof of the police station at the opposite end of the building. _The high security wing_ , Jackie realized. That was where Owlman must be. The CSA was here to break him out.

One of the policemen went down the row, counting heads. “I don’t think I have to tell you that running away right now is going to cause you a lot of trouble,” he announced to them. “If you even think about leaving, we will hunt you down.”

The three policemen all looked bored and annoyed, which told Jackie that these were most likely CSA men and not Commissioner Wayne’s. They didn’t seem too concerned that Owlman was probably being rescued right now.

Sirens wailed as some fire engines pulled up to the building, lights flashing. Firemen jumped out with hoses. There were onlookers standing around now on the street. Two firemen jogged into the front of the building and a third came towards them.

“You’re gonna have to move back towards the fence,” he shouted to them, waving them back with one hand. “We don’t want you too close to the building.”

The policemen began urging the line of prisoners back against the fence. There was a faint cough and the policeman nearest Jackie tripped, sinking to his knees. The fireman stepped up to the second officer and this time Jackie saw the gun before it let out a quiet noise and that officer went down as well.

“Hey--” the third police officer said, going for his gun. The fireman let off two quick shots into the man’s head.

The nearest prisoners recoiled from the fireman as he turned his head. Jackie saw the scars curling up the man’s cheeks. A face just like his own grinned at him.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” said the Joker, grabbing Jackie’s arm. Jackie stumbled as the Joker pulled him back towards the fire engines in the parking lot.

“What are you doing?” Jackie gasped out, staggering along in the Joker’s grasp. “I can’t leave! I was arrested!”

The Joker gave him a withering look that was so disgusted that it nearly shriveled Jackie’s insides. There was a car waiting in the parking lot, near the fire engines. He forced Jackie into the driver’s side door and then climbed in after him. Jackie clambered awkwardly over to the passenger’s side, still handcuffed.

The Joker started the car and they made it out of the lot as the first shouts of panic arose from the yard where they had been standing. They swerved around a fire truck and then headed down the street.

“What the hell is going on?” Jackie asked, trying to slide his handcuffed hands under his butt so he could work them around to the front. He was going to need to grip onto something if the Joker was going to keep driving like that.

“Did you tell them anything?” the Joker asked, dragging his fire helmet off his head and tossing it into the back seat.

“I told them everything I know, which is nothing,” Jackie replied. “Where is Bruce?”

The Joker shot a glance at him. “He had other things to do. I decided to make myself useful.”

They turned a corner. They didn’t seem to be heading in any particular direction that Jackie could ascertain. They were just taking random turns.

“Why did you take me out of there?” Jackie asked, glancing over his shoulder. There didn’t seem to be any pursuit yet.

“Because we’re going to find the bomb before the police do,” the Joker replied.

“Was that you back there? With the explosions?”

“It was a handy distraction, but I didn’t come up with it.” The Joker shrugged. “I may have let it slip to someone that the Owlman was in custody there.”

Jackie snorted and said nothing. The Joker took them around another curve.

“What are you even doing here?” Jackie asked. “You were working with Three Face.”

“Owlman set up this whole kingdom so perfectly,” the Joker said with a laugh. “I thought it needed someone to blow it all down.”

“Is that why you want the bomb?”

The Joker looked appalled. “What is going to happen to this city when the bomb goes off? Everyone will die and everything will be rubble. Do you think that’s fun? Do you think that sounds appealing? I don’t want revenge against anyone in this city. Why would I want to blow the place up?”

“And you’re just going to turn the bomb in to the police when you find it,” Jackie said dryly.

“I’m not giving it to Wayne. He’ll be the next to take power after the CSA falls. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a man who thinks he’s right.” The Joker took another turn and then eased his foot off the gas.

“What is your plan then?”

“I don’t have one.”

That didn’t sound terribly far fetched. Jackie sighed. “Okay. Where are we going?”

“To Three Face. Tell me where she is.”

“I have no idea,” Jackie said in exasperation.

“She brought you to her mother’s house. She must have some other places that she would think were equally safe. Did she live anywhere else as a child? Did she have some favorite spot?”

“No, there was just that. I can’t even think of any place in the city that she would…” Jackie frowned. “She mentioned my father twice. She said she knew he was still living around there.”

“Where does your father live?”

Jackie glanced at him. The Joker stared back. “Take a right here,” Jackie said.

They drive back to the neighborhood where Three Face had taken him that morning, except this time they stayed a few blocks further south. When they reached the old house that Jackie remembered so well, they stopped. Jackie looked up the cracked driveway to the closed front door. The blinds were pulled in all the windows and the cement walkway had weeds growing up through the cracks.

His father's house.


	10. Chapter 10

When Jackie was eighteen years old, his father called the cops on him because he’d left the milk out on the counter.

It hadn’t even been one of the bad days, the days when Jackie knew it was best to stay in his room or get out of the house for a while. Their morning had been spent in separate orbits, Jackie watching television with a bowl of cereal on his lap, his father banging around in the kitchen and cursing at the dog who was begging for a scrap. He heard the dog yelp when his father shoved it out of the way.

“Who left the fucking milk out?” his father growled, slamming a cupboard shut. “It’s warm.”

It was best not to say anything in these situations. Jackie kept his mouth shut and his father stormed out of the kitchen, heading down the hall to his bedroom. The dog wandered into the living room, interested in Jackie’s cereal. Jackie gave him the mostly empty bowl and the house had fallen silent again.

And then suddenly there were cops at the front door. Jackie let them in, confused, and his father came into the living room, his mouth set in a grim line.

“I want him out of the house now,” he said.

“How old are you?” one of the cops asked Jackie.

“Eighteen,” Jackie had said, still confused. “What is going on?”

“The homeowner wants you out of the house. You’re going to have to leave.”

“He’s my dad,” Jackie protested, feeling as if he had just been put in some sort of alternate universe.

“You’re no longer a minor,” the other cop explained, looking a little sympathetic.

“What about my stuff?”

The cops let him go into his room and there followed a truly humiliating span of time where Jackie filled a trash bag with his belongings and his father dictated which Jackie could take and which had to stay. In twenty minutes, Jackie had all of his remaining possessions in the bag and the police escorted him to the door.

“What about the dog?” Jackie asked. “He was mine.”

“He’s staying,” his father said.

The dog nudged its head up under his father’s hand. Jackie felt a surge of hate so strong that he thought he was going to kick the dog himself, but the police were watching and so instead he just walked out the front door. The police escorted him off the property and told him to get lost.

There was no reason whatsoever why he hadn’t already left his father. Sure, finding a place to live on his meager hourly pay as a stocker at the grocery store was going to be hard, but if he was going to be honest with himself (something he tried to avoid), anyone with even an ounce of dignity would have left ages ago.

The nights were warm, so even though it took Jackie a few days to find a place to stay, it was fine sleeping in the park until then. He managed to rent the in-law apartment of one of his coworkers, a tiny place over the detached garage. He even managed to scrape together a few pieces of furniture.

It wasn’t until his first night alone in the apartment, trying to rearrange the furniture in a way that didn’t look destitute chic, that it suddenly hit him that this was it. This wasn’t a couple days away from his father. This was for good.

It was shocking how upset that made him. He had lived with his father his entire life and when most sane people would have left, he stayed. Just because his father was an unmitigated asshole didn’t mean Jackie didn’t love him in a way. What was he going to do with himself now?

##

Jackie knocked hard on the front door of the house and listened for a response inside. The Joker was standing next to him, studying the house with birdlike curiosity. Somewhere down the street, someone was mowing their lawn. Jackie knocked again, impatient.

Inside the house, a floorboard creaked. Someone pulled aside the venetian blinds in the window closest to the door and then let them swing back into place. Locks turned in the door and it creaked open.

The man that stood there was older than Jackie remembered. His hair was going gray and receding back from his temples and his face sagged a little more at the jowls. He squinted at them.

“It’s not Halloween,” he said gruffly.

“Daddy?” the Joker said. He had a smirk on his face. Jackie glanced sideways at him, then at his father again. The man stared at both of them.

“Jackie?” he said to the Joker.

“It’s me,” the Joker said. His voice held a false note of earnestness in it. “Can we come in?”  
 Jackie’s father scowled at them. “Five fucking years and you show up at my door wearing clown makeup? Who’s your, uh, friend?”

He glanced uneasily at Jackie, then at the Joker again. He was obviously having a lot of trouble making some sort of connection, but Jackie could smell the alcohol on him. His father probably thought he was hallucinating.

“Five years? Has it been that long?” the Joker asked drolly. Jackie’s father opened the door for them and they both stepped inside.

The house was not a lot different from how Jackie remembered it. The furniture in the living room was worn and old. It smelled like cigarettes. There was no dog. Jackie wondered how long the dog had survived his departure.

“We’re looking for Three Face,” he said. His father glanced at him, still wary.

“The lady with the makeup like yours?” he said.

Both Jackie and the Joker perked up. “Yes,” Jackie said.

“She left already.” Jackie’s father rubbed his nose and then turned away from them, sitting back down in an old armchair. A cigarette burned in an ash tray on the floor next to it. He picked it up and shoved it back between his lips.

“Did she say where she was going?” Jackie asked.

“Is that why you’re here? To chase down some chick? You’re not even going to spare a moment for your old man?”

The Joker went over to the couch and dropped down, looking amused. Jackie remained standing where he was, trying to force himself not to pace. There was a buzzing energy in his chest, just looking for an outlet.

“It’s important that you tell us where she is,” he said.

The Joker lifted his chin and stared at Jackie’s father. “What did you want to talk about, Pops?”

Jackie’s father squinted at the Joker again. “What have you been up to that you’re too busy to visit?”

“Visit?” Jackie asked. “Did you really expect me to? The only time I saw you since you kicked me out was when you needed money.”

His father turned his attention to him. “I’m not proud of that,” he said, his voice low and his lips hard. “But I could have gone somewhere else for money. I wanted to see my son again.”

“You figured I was the only one who would actually give it to you, you mean,” Jackie returned.

“I wanted to see you. The money was just an excuse,” his father protested, sounding angry and embarrassed.

“Well how about you pay me back by telling me where Three Face went and we’ll call it even?” Jackie said harshly.

##

During February of the year that Jackie turned twenty-eight, his father came to visit him. He was a well known comedian by that point, selling out venues in Gotham where his schtick was appreciated. He had a nice apartment with a view of the park and a driver to bring him places. His manager Harley booked him gigs and fielded his phone calls and sometimes reminded him to eat or sleep when he had forgotten, and he tended to forget quite often. These were the years he remembered as a blur of bright footlights and well-stocked green rooms and outrageous riders. At the height of his fame he could write a hooker and some blow into his rider and it would have been provided for him when he arrived at the venue, although he never actually did. Still, the thought that he _could_ was good enough.

His father must have made it through security somehow, although Jackie didn’t have the faintest clue how. Someone must have taken pity on the drunk old man with the same last name as Jackie and let him go into the dressing room.

Jackie was enjoying some pre-show Cheetos (which were what he had _actually_ put in the rider, and were so much better than hookers and blow) when his father opened the door to the dressing room. Jackie almost didn’t recognize the man.

“Jackie?” his father had said tentatively, leaning on the door.

Jackie paused with his hand halfway to his mouth. A hundred thoughts raced through his mind at once, the foremost and most ridiculous being _I’ve stumbled onto the set of Jerry Springer and they brought him here to confront me_ but then his father came all the way into the room and it became clear that the man was dressed in wrinkled, stained clothing, was drunk, and was alone.

“How did you get in here?” Jackie asked him.

“Can’t a man come to visit his own son?” His father glanced around in curiosity.

“No.” Jackie rose up off the couch, wiping his hands on a napkin. The clock on the wall told him that he was going to be on in half an hour. He did not have time for blasts from his past. He strode past his father to the door and pulled it open wide. “Not when I’ve told security not to let you in. Security!”

His father grabbed his arm. “No, don’t please. Jackie. I just wanted to see you.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Jackie said, wrenching his arm out of his father’s grip.

“I read about you in the newspaper,” his father said pleadingly, as if this was going to make some kind of difference to Jackie. “I didn’t even know what you had been up to. I was so proud, Jackie.”

“You want money,” Jackie said flatly.

“What? No.” His dad looked offended. “No. I just wanted to reconnect with my little boy.”

Jackie didn’t call for the security again, but he didn’t take his hand off the door either. “Go on, then. Talk.”

His father looked a little startled, but lit up. “Tell me that you’ve been up to, Jackie-boy. Tell me how you’ve been living your life.”

“Are you still an alcoholic?” Jackie asked coldly.

Some of the delight went out of his father’s face. He glared at Jackie. “I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Are you still unemployed?”

“The economy is shit,” his dad said. “I’ve worked a few jobs here and there since you left, but things are tough right now.”

“Is the dog still alive?”

“Just tell me what’s new with you,” his dad said in frustration. “It looks like you’re doing good for yourself.”

“It pays the bills.”

“I always knew you had a sense of humor. You were a funny kid. You always made people laugh.”

 _Funny strange, not funny ha-ha_ , Jackie thought. He didn’t say anything. His father was beginning to look impatient.

“How much?” Jackie asked.

“I‘m not here for money,” his dad protested again. “But it’s a cold winter out there and the electric companies only give you three warnings before they shut off the electricity, those bastards. I can pay you back soon as I get a job, but you can’t let me freeze to death out there.”

Jackie knew that if he gave his father a cent, it was just going to encourage his father to come back, but he now he only had twenty five minutes before his segment started and he was going to need more time than that to recover from this meeting. “How much?” he said again.

“Five hundred should do it,” his father said, having the grace to look ashamed. “It’ll hold me over for a little while.”

Jackie pulled out his wallet and counted out some cash. He only had three hundred in there but he wasn’t going to go get more. He shoved it at his father.

“Don’t drink it all in one place.”

His father took it, looking wounded. Jackie stamped down on the guilty feeling in his chest.

“I have to get ready now,” Jackie said. “Get out of here.”

“I did so much for you,” his dad said, looking suddenly annoyed. “You wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for me. I clothed you and fed you and gave you a place to stay even after your mother died. You shouldn’t treat me this way.”

“Congratulations, you did the bare minimum it took to keep me alive,” Jackie said.

“Maybe I knew you would be a good-for-nothing leech if I let you stay at home sitting on your ass in front of the television. Having to fend for yourself for a while was good for you.”

“You want me to thank you for kicking me out of the house without warning? Thanks, Dad. Take your money and I won’t call security on you out of gratitude, okay?”

His father’s face reddened and Jackie waited for the punch. He really did. But his father did nothing, just stood there with his hands dangling at his sides, looking suddenly sad.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” his father said finally. “You weren’t so cold.”

 _I used to let you hit me_ , Jackie thought. _What a difference therapy and ten years will do._

“You be a good kid, okay?” His father’s eyes searched his face, looking for some kind of a response. “Don’t get into too much trouble. Go out there and make them laugh.”

Jackie said nothing. His father turned and walked down the hall, his shoulders slumped. He looked pathetic. Jackie wanted to chase after him and yell at him, punch him, try to provoke him to that violence he remembered, but instead he just stood there until his father went out of sight.

##

His father grimaced, looking defeated. “She didn’t say what her name was. I guess she was the chick you’re looking for. She said she was a friend of yours and she wanted to watch the news for a while. I think she was drunk or sick or something, but she sobered up after a while. She left half an hour ago.”

“Did she have a crate with her?”

“No,” his father said with a shrug. “But she was driving a station wagon. She could have left it in there.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No. She said that she was going to take care of some trouble. She seemed angry about something.”

“Do you remember my tenth birthday?” the Joker asked suddenly. Jackie and his father both glanced at him. He was sitting down on the couch, looking completely relaxed. He was playing with a switchblade, opening it and snapping it shut over and over again.

“Your birthday?” his father asked blankly.

“I wanted to go to the circus.”

Jackie’s father frowned. Jackie looked back and forth between his father and the Joker.

“The circus was in Gotham,” Jackie said, memories stirring in the back of his head. “You had promised you would take me.”

The Joker glanced over at him. There was something amused in his eyes, as if this whole thing was a game to him.

“But you had a _bad day at work_ ,” the Joker said, tilting his head to the side and saying it lightly.

His father was looking between the two of them. What must this all seem like to him? A hallucination of his son come to haunt him? One amused by the whole situation, and the other disgusted? Would he think of this tomorrow as a dream? “I don’t remember,” he said hoarsely.

Jackie suddenly didn’t want to go any further. It wasn’t so much the memory, although that had been a particularly bad one. It was more the idea that the Joker seemed to know exactly what had happened, or something very similar. He didn’t want to know if the Joker had had the same experience as he did.

“Forget it,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” the Joker said.

There was a pause. His father was looking down at his hands, his eyes darting back and forth.

“I ended up in the hospital,” the Joker said.

“No I didn’t,” Jackie said with a surge of relief. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Their eyes met. Jackie couldn’t read the Joker’s expression.

His dad sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No you’re not,” Jackie said, feeling disgusted. He saw the Joker snap open the switchblade and then pause.

A car door slammed outside. Jackie looked towards the window, the noise registering on his consciousness. A number of cars had just driven up and stopped nearby.

“We have to go,” he said, gesturing to the Joker. “There’s someone here.”

The Joker rose to his feet, his knife still open. His eyes were fixed on Jackie’s father, expressionless. There was a sharp knock at the door.

Jackie’s father got to his feet and went to the front door, passing by the Joker very closely. Jackie stood frozen, watching the Joker’s eyes move to follow him as he passed.

“We have to go,” Jackie said again. The Joker’s eyes slowly turned to him. The pupils were too wide. Out of the corner of Jackie’s eye, he saw a shadow move on the other side of the curtain by the back door. The house was surrounded.

“Shit,” Jackie swore, looking down the hall. His father’s bedroom had a window facing the side yard. He started down the hall, hearing the Joker follow.

“Open up! It’s the police!” someone shouted from the front door.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Jackie’s dad said, unlocking it. Jackie reached his father’s bedroom and slipped inside.

The window overlooked a strip of grass and some scraggly hedges between their yard and the neighbors’. Jackie shoved the window open and glanced left and right, then shoved up the screen. There was a seven foot drop from the window to the grass. Jackie swung one leg out the window, sending a mental apology to his sore knee. It was going to be very angry with him by the end of the day.

He dropped to the ground and the Joker climbed out after him. Behind him, he heard his father answering the front door. The two of them melted out through the hedges and into the neighbor’s yard.

They wouldn’t be able to make it back to the Joker’s car, but that one had been stolen anyway. They would have to find another mode of transportation.

Jackie struggled through the neighbor’s back yard, trying not to look back. The Joker went ahead of him, a bit faster without the injured knee. They reached the end of the back yard and went through another neighbor’s yard, then emerged on the sidewalk.

The Joker was silent. Jackie caught up to him, limping.

“We didn’t have the exact same childhood,” Jackie said. “We’re not identical.”

“You think that just because different things happened to us, we’re not the same person?” the Joker asked incredulously.

“You are completely different from me,” Jackie protested. “You were going to kill him in there.”

“Tell me you never thought about it.” The Joker shot him a look.

“The difference is I wouldn’t actually do it. I don’t--I try not to kill. I try to save people.”

“Do you save people because you like people? Because you think they deserve to live? Do you fight crime because crime is bad?” The Joker laughed. “Or do you fight Owlman, and the whole stopping crime and saving people thing is incidental?”

“I fight Owlman because he’s a menace to society,” Jackie shot back.

“If Owlman were a symbol of truth and justice and he’d scarred you by accident--or even because you deserved it--would you become evil, become the criminal, just to be his counterpart?”

“Is that what you think you’re doing? Trying to be Bruce’s counterpart?”

“ _Bruce_ ,” the Joker said, his eyes narrow. “Not _Bruce_. Batman.” He wave a dismissive hand. “You’re not a _healthy_ man. None of us are. Dressing up and putting on a mask isn’t something normal people do. Something must have knocked you on your path, and I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it wasn’t something _good_.”

“They were already out there, dressed up and committing crimes,” Jackie said. “Dressing up wasn’t something new.”

“People get mugged every day and they don’t put on costumes and take on the world. People get _scarred_ all the time and maybe they deserved it and maybe they don’t but that doesn’t mean they put on clown makeup and play the court jester.” The Joker turned dark green eyes on him. “It takes something _special_ to push someone that far. You and me, we’re the same. I don’t kill people to kill people. You don’t save them to save them. Screw humanity. We fight because we aren’t anything unless we have something to fight against.”

“None of that is true,” Jackie said. “I’m not some sort of sociopath. I want to save people.”

“You slit someone’s throat and you say you don’t kill people?”

“It was defending Bruce.”

“You would kill the whole CSA if you could.”

“To _save lives._ ”

“You kill to save people. I kill for entertainment. Do the motives really matter when they end up with the same results? When I save someone because I know that it will make the CSA’s lives harder, is that better or worse than when you save them out of the goodness of your heart? It’s not who we are inside but what we do that defines us.”

“I could never do what you do.”

“Can’t, won’t.” The Joker shrugged. “I don’t think that what _daddy_ might have done or not done made a big difference.”

In the distance, sirens wailed. The Joker took a sharp turn up someone’s driveway, heading for a forest green sedan. He tugged on the door handle, then drove his elbow into the window until it cracked.

“He couldn’t have called the police. He was with us the whole time,” Jackie said, glancing back in the direction they had come.

“Three Face must be nearby,” the Joker replied, knocking the glass out of the window and opening the car. “She was watching the house and she knew we were there. Taking care of some trouble, like he said. I’m sure she’s on her way out of here by now.”

Jackie grimaced in frustration, circling the car to the passenger’s side. She could be anywhere. How were they going to find her? The police had had some sort of radiation tracking device. Perhaps they could use something similar to find out where the bomb was.

The Joker pulled out the wiring from under the dashboard and hotwired the car. Jackie looked up at the house they were sitting in front of. No one was looking out the windows toward them, so they seemed to be okay for now.

The car started and the Joker put it into reverse, pulling out into the street. They made it to the street corner and stopped. There was very little traffic around here, just a car once in a while. Down to the left, Jackie could see police cars parked in front of his father’s house.

“She can’t be planning on detonating the bomb tonight,” Jackie said. “She wanted to find the CSA headquarters first so she could bring it there. She wanted to interrogate Owlman but he could barely speak.”

“And Owlman is with the CSA now,” the Joker said, hitting the gas. The car jumped forward, heading down the street.

“She’ll need a place to stay. She can’t just drive around the city with a bomb. She can’t go to Eddie’s. She can’t go to her mother’s. She can’t go to my father’s.”

The answer came to him in a realization so obvious that he was shocked he hadn’t thought of it earlier. “Our _house_ ,” he said. “The one that was destroyed. She must have gone there.”


	11. Chapter 11

“I talked to Jackie after you left,” Eddie called when Bruce came in the door to the apartment two hours after leaving City Hall.

Peeling off the top part of his suit, Bruce strode into the living room. “What did he say?”

Eddie seemed to be the only one in the apartment. He was propped up on pillows, typing into a computer. A police scanner chattered urgently behind him and muted news stations played on several of the monitors.

“Ah, let’s see. Three Face had taken the three of them to her mother’s house, but Jackie escaped with Owlman. He brought Owlman to Dr. Ducard for treatment but apparently Ducard called the police.”

“They arrested him?” Bruce threw his gauntlets and chest plate into a pile in the corner of the room, then cast a glance towards Eddie’s mask before stripping out of the rest of his costume.

“They arrested him,” Eddie said with a nod. “But…it looks like there was some action at the police station. I think the CSA attacked and got Owlman, and Jackie seems to have disappeared. Then there was a call to the police about two Jackies at Jackie’s father’s house. They didn’t make any arrests, but there’s an all points bulletin out on him now.”

“He’s with the Joker?” Bruce paused, nearly nude. “Wait, when was this?”

Eddie lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “He was arrested maybe two hours ago.”

“He must have known,” Bruce said in shocked disappointment. “My father knew what was going on when he was talking to me and he didn’t tell me a thing.” He shook his head. “Where could Jackie be going now?”

“We can only hope he’s heading back here,” Eddie said. “And then I’m going to implant you all with tracking devices so you can’t do this all over again.” He only sounded half-joking.

Bruce looked down at his costume on the floor. Perhaps he should put it back on and head back out there. The bulletproof costume could come in handy if he was going to help Jackie escape from the police. Of course, it wouldn’t be very inconspicuous.

“Go take a shower,” Eddie said, apparently reading his mind. “Seriously.”

“I’m going,” Bruce said wryly, taking off the last of the costume and heading into the bathroom.

##

It had been more than a year since the house was destroyed in the attack by the CSA, but it still stood where it had been, a burnt skeleton of itself. The garage was just about the only thing left standing. Jackie wondered what the fire fighters had thought when they went in there, finding Three Face’s motorcycles and Riddler’s gadgets. None of them had come back for anything.

The rest of the house was a pile of rubble fenced off. A back wall of the house framed the sky. Wallpaper still clung to a bit of exposed wall. Jackie didn’t know what was going to happen to the house now. It was likely that Eddie and Eve hadn’t done anything about it; Jackie certainly hadn’t even wanted to think about the house after that whole thing. It was probably collecting back taxes and public ordinance fines and eventually would be taken over by the government and sold.

Jackie dug his fingers into the chain link fence by the garage and peered into the lot. It was hard to say if anyone had been in there.

“There’s a hole cut in the fence over here,” the Joker said, pushing it open and climbing through. Jackie followed. They crossed the driveway and went up to the garage as quietly as they could. The garage door was closed, but there was a side door that was warped by water damage and didn’t close all the way. The Joker leaned on it, listening, and then shoved it open.

A few pigeons flapped away up through a hole in the roof. Jackie squeezed in after the Joker.

Sunlight filtered down through the ceiling, lighting up the tipped-over bulk of a motorcycle and a decomposing piece of the ceiling. Eddie’s workbench was covered in soot and it looked as if a lot of the tools had been stolen. A maple tree had started to sprout in the debris underneath the hole in the ceiling.

Jackie stepped carefully among the bits of twisted debris, peering around for signs of recent habitation. There were a few scuffs in the soot on the floor.

The Joker let out a soft hiss and Jackie glanced towards him. He was holding his finger to his lips. Jackie listened. Faintly, he heard someone moving nearby, through the closed door that led from the garage to where the hallway used to be.

The Joker circled around to the other side of the door and they waited. Jackie pressed himself up against the wall. Three Face had a gun and he didn’t want to be shot in the chest if he startled her. Of course, there was a possibility that she would shoot him in the chest whether he startled her or not, but he was willing to take that risk.

The doorknob turned and then a man stepped through the door and into the garage. Not really a man, Jackie thought when he got a closer look. A young man in his late teens or early twenties. He had short brown hair and was wearing a black t-shirt and cargo shorts. Some kid getting his kicks breaking into abandoned buildings, probably.

“This part doesn’t look so--” he started to say, turning to look back over his shoulder, and then he froze, his eyes locking with Jackie’s. Jackie felt himself freeze as well, because he knew that face, even thought it used to wear a domino mask.

Talon reacted at the same second that the Joker attacked, throwing himself backwards through the doorway again. The Joker jumped forward to follow and Jackie lunged at him, grabbing his wrist.

Talon gaped at the two of them, holding a knife bare in his hand but looking uncertain about where to put it. A little further down the hall, backlit by sunlight streaming in, Duela stood staring at them.

“Daddy?” she said.

The Joker turned his eyes to Jackie, his eyebrows going up. Jackie cautiously let go of his wrist and then turned his full attention on his daughter.

“Duela.”

Like Talon, she was dressed in casual clothes, no costume in sight. Her red hair was tied back in a short ponytail. Her eyes were wide, flicking between Jackie and the Joker. She looked anxious, and Jackie could remember the last words he had yelled at her before she had fled with Talon. _You are not my daughter._

“What’s going on?” she asked.

The Joker melted away from the doorway, heading back into the garage, apparently losing interest. Talon relaxed marginally.

“Where have you been? Are you okay? Where did you go?” Jackie asked all in a rush, reaching out to her. She took a step forward, her eyes welling up.

“We left Gotham,” she said, her eyes shifting briefly to Talon. “Jason and I didn’t want to…to see anyone again…”

“I’m so sorry for what I said,” Jackie said quietly. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know, Daddy,” she said, and then rushed into his arms. He clutched her to his chest and felt her start to sob into his shoulder, hugging him tightly. Talon looked vaguely uncomfortable.

“But who was that?” Talon asked, looking after the Joker.

Duela and Jackie pulled apart. “He’s a good man, Daddy,” she said quietly, inclining her head to Talon. “He’s not the person you think he is.”

Jackie sighed and glanced over at Talon. Both of them looked slightly older in the year since Jackie had seen them last. Duela had shed some baby fat, lending her cheekbones a more streamlined look. Talon had some stubble under his chin that he had missed while shaving. After fighting Owlman and Talon for a few years while Talon was still prepubescent, Jackie felt the strange lurch of time moving abruptly forward. They were both grown up.

“His name is the Joker,” Jackie said quietly. “He’s from a different, uh, universe. It’s complicated.”

“He was going to stab me,” Talon said.

“Yeah,” said Jackie, still not sure whether that was out of the question.

“What happened here?” Duela suddenly seemed to remember the building around them. “Was there a fire?”

Jackie looked from her to Talon. Talon looked just as mystified as Duela. Could it be possible that they didn’t know?

“Are Eddie and Eve okay?” Duela asked, her expression turning to fear as the silence lengthened. “Daddy, tell me what happened.”

Jackie glanced down the hall, where it ended in rubble. A warm breeze move the air around them, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass and old soot.

“They’re alive,” he said. He fixed his eyes on Talon. “The day you came to our house, the CSA followed you.”

Talon’s eyes went wide. He looked honestly surprised and Jackie felt something ease in his chest. Either the boy was a great actor or he really hadn’t know about the attack.

“The CSA did this?” Duela asked.

“They…injured Eddie and Eve and burned down the house, but we all survived.” Jackie hesitated. “I can show you where they live now.”

“Where do _you_ live?” Duela asked, catching on his phrasing.

“It’s a long story,” Jackie said. “I’ll tell you when we head back to the house.”

He glanced back toward the garage, where the Joker was still roaming around. “Did you see signs of anyone else in the house?” he asked Duela.

Duela glanced down the hall. “There isn’t much left of the house to go through,” she said. “Just part of the kitchen. I didn’t see anyone.”

“She’s not here,” the Joker said from inside the garage.

She must have thought it was too obvious. Jackie stepped back into the garage. He honestly didn’t know where Three Face could go.

“She might call the police on us again,” the Joker added.

“Who are you looking for?” Duela asked.

“Three Face,” Jackie replied. Duela looked concerned.

“Things really have changed,” she said.

The Joker was right. If Three Face wasn’t camping out here, she must know that they would look here, and if she knew that they had escaped her last trap, she might attempt it again.

“Let’s go,” he said, making his way back to the entrance.

“Have fun with your family reunion,” the Joker said.

Jackie glanced back at him. “I’m taking the car.”

The Joker shrugged, looking unconcerned. Jackie, Duela and Talon headed out.

“What happened to your leg?” Duela asked, hooking her arm around Jackie’s elbow as they walked back to the car. Talon walked a step behind them, which made Jackie uncomfortable (he had long ago learned never to turn his back on a member of the CSA no matter how young) but not enough to make a scene out of it.

“Owlman,” Jackie said shortly.

“Tell me what happened since I left.” Duela hugged his arm.

“The CSA attacked us just minutes after you left,” Jackie said slowly, glancing back at Talon. “We assumed they had followed you. They--I got separated from Eddie and Eve. I thought they had died, and they thought I had died. They were saved by a doctor who helped them recover, and they’ve been living on the other side of town for the past year.”

“Were they badly hurt?” Duela asked tentatively.

Jackie chewed it over. “Eve lost an arm,” he said. “Eddie was…badly burned.” He swallowed, thinking of the bed in the dark apartment. Duela would be horrified to see that. “Most of the damage was to his face. He wears a mask now. He’s blind.”

Duela walked in silence, rubbing at her eyes. Jackie hugged her against his side. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. There was nothing you could have done even if you were there.”

She shook her head, apparently not trusting herself to speak.

“I stayed in the city for eight months until Owlman disappeared. Apparently he had some access to technology that could bring him to a different universe. I know it’s weird.”

“Weird,” Duela said with a shaky laugh. “We’re costumed crime fighters. We know weird.”

“Not this weird.” They had reached the car. Talon silently folded himself into the back seat, apparently content to listen to Jackie and Duela talk. Jackie and Duela got in and Jackie started the car.

“It was an alternate Gotham that’s a lot like ours, only different. You saw the Joker. That’s where he’s from. He’s a criminal over there. Owlman went to take over that Gotham. His counterpart over there is a man named Batman--Bruce Wayne. The Joker came to get me to bring me back to help Bruce. I don’t really know why.”

“Is there another me over there?” Duela asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” Jackie said thoughtfully.

“Is Bruce evil?”

“No,” Jackie said immediately. “He’s one of the good guys. He came back here with me.”

“So he’s like a good Owlman? That must be weird.” She glanced over her shoulder at Talon. “And what happened to Owlman?”

“He’s back here now. He’s…alive.” Jackie merged the car onto a busy street. “I only just got back here yesterday. The Joker came back here six months ago and started working with Three Face to provoke the people in the city to revolt against the CSA. The CSA reacted by trying to steal a bomb, but we got it back from them.” He hesitated. “And then Three Face ran off with it.”

“What is she going to do with a bomb?” Duela asked incredulously.

“Nothing good.” Jackie glanced at her. “We can’t find her anywhere. Do you know where she could be hiding?”

Duela shook her head. “Not a clue.”

“Tell me where you went when you left.”

Duela glanced back at Talon again. “I kind of wanted to wait until everyone was together, so I wouldn’t have to tell it twice, you know?” She looked over at Jackie. “I wouldn’t have stayed away so long if I knew what had happened. I just…I thought that it would be better if I stayed away.”

“You would have been welcomed back,” Jackie said immediately. “But I’m glad you weren’t there when the CSA attacked. I wouldn’t have wanted to risk you getting hurt.”

“Is it really bad?” Duela asked, her voice suddenly shaky. “Eddie, I mean.”

Jackie looked out the windshield, turning them onto the street where the apartment was. “He’s still got his sense of humor. He stays home and keeps in touch with us by radio now.”

Duela sniffled. Jackie parked a few blocks from the apartment, too paranoid to park a stolen car too close to Eddie’s house. They got out of the car and headed to the apartment.

At the stairs, Jackie took his time going down them. He could feel that his knee was going to be punishing him for all this tomorrow. Duela and Talon waited at the bottom of the stairs for him, Duela watching him with a look of anxiety on her face. He knew that she was worried about seeing Eddie. Talon squeezed her arm reassuringly, and that more than anything that Jackie had seen of the kid made him believe that Talon actually cared for her.

“You can knock on the door,” Jackie said. “I don’t have a key.”

Talon knocked on the door as Jackie reached the last step. After a second, the door swung open. Bruce stood there, frowning at them in confusion. He was out of costume but Talon still took a step back, making a startled noise.

“Holy shit,” Duela said. “He really does look like Owlman, doesn’t he?”

Bruce’s eyes went past Duela and Talon to Jackie and he smiled in relief. “You’re back.”

Jackie felt a smile creeping over his face just at the sight of Bruce. It was embarrassing to admit how stupid in love he was. “I’m back. Now let’s get inside.”

Bruce stepped aside to let them all into the house. Talon was giving Bruce suspicious looks. Jackie squeezed in next to Bruce and pulled the door shut behind himself.

Duela had already gone to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room and was looking in on Eddie. Jackie heard her say “Oh, God,” and then rush to Eddie’s side. Talon hesitated in the doorway, holding back.

“Who are they?” Bruce asked Jackie quietly.

“That’s my daughter, Duela,” Jackie replied, unable to keep the smile off his face. Bruce looked startled.

“Duela? Really? She’s back?” He glanced towards Talon. “Then that’s Talon, right?”

“Right.” Jackie shot him a look, but Talon had his back to them. He seemed to be letting Duela and Eddie have their moment together.

“I couldn’t find Three Face,” Jackie added. “We went to my father’s house and to our old house that was destroyed in the fire, but we couldn’t find her.”

“I tried to get some help from my father but he doesn’t want to cooperate,” Bruce said. “He thinks I’m covering up for her.”

Jackie heard Duela call to Talon and Talon went into the living room, probably for formal introductions. Jackie took the opportunity to pull Bruce in for a kiss.

“From now on we’re getting tracking devices,” Bruce muttered. “Or at least cell phones.”

“Daddy?” Duela called from the other room. “I have something to tell you guys.”

Jackie and Bruce reluctantly parted and Jackie went into the other room, Bruce close behind him. Duela was sitting on the chair next to the bed, her hands wrapped around one of Eddie’s. Talon stood behind her, watching Jackie and Bruce come into the room. Jackie stopped at the end of the bed.

“What’s up?”

Duela looked at Eddie and took a deep breath. “Don’t kill us until after you let it sink in a little, okay?” she said nervously. “Jason and I are…well. We’re having a baby.”

Silence fell in the room. Duela glanced at Jackie, her eyes a little wide.

“A baby?” he sputtered. “You’re sixteen!”

“Almost seventeen,” she said. “And how old were _you_ when I was born, Dad?”

There was very little Jackie could actually say to that (except the truth--seventeen--and he didn’t feel that that would help). He looked toward Bruce, who was smirking.

“You’re going to be a grandfather,” he said.

“What? No. Wait.” Jackie looked at Duela in horror. “A grandfather? I’m thirty-three!”

Bruce looked sympathetic and amused at the same time. Duela looked towards Eddie, who squeezed her hand.

“Will you be staying in Gotham?” he asked.

“We’d like to,” Duela said uncertainly.

“Stay,” Jackie said. “Stay with us. We can help.” He faltered and glanced towards Bruce. If Duela stayed, they would need to stay as well.

Duela burst into a smile, apparently taking that as acceptance. She leapt from her chair and gave Jackie a big hug. “I’m so glad,” she said. “I just wish Mom was here.”

“We’ll find her,” Jackie reassured her, patting her on the back. “Don’t worry. We’ll get her back to us.”

##

“What do you fear?” Ducard asked him.

Nothing, Thomas wanted to say. He couldn’t think of anything that truly scared him. He wasn’t afraid to die. He wasn’t afraid of things that other people were afraid of, snakes and bats and spiders. He didn’t fear the death of his loved ones because he had none. When he thought back to the night when his family was killed, he didn’t think there was any fear there, either. Certainly he had felt fear at the time, as a ten year old boy, but there was no lingering fear left over. He didn’t fear men with guns or police officers or dark alleys anymore.

“What do you fear?” Ducard asked him, bringing down his sword.

Thomas met it with his own and the clang of metal rang out over the ice. They were outside where the glaciers made slick white humps all around them and the lake was frozen. It was three years now since Thomas had come here, and he knew that the two of them moved with a fluidity that most people would be unable to comprehend. Thomas had complete control over every muscle in his body. This was not a fight but more of a ritual, although it was fast and powerful enough to kill if someone slipped.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Nonsense. What do you fear?”

Thomas met his sword again and again, stepping back on the ice. Complete control over his feet kept him from slipping. Control over his sword kept Ducard from advancing too far and forcing him to overextend himself.

“Nothing,” he said again.

Ducard smiled tightly and darted in. Thomas read it for the feint it was and had his sword ready when Ducard switched targets. Thomas took advantage of an opening and forced Ducard back. Ducard slipped and fell onto his back on the ice. Thomas brought the sword to his throat and stopped there.

“I fear nothing.”

“Not even loss of control?” Ducard asked.

The ice cracked under Thomas’s feet and he went plunging down into the water. It was pain like nothing else, the incredible feeling of being completely immersed in water just this side of freezing. He felt it shock his heart and felt the explosion of pain in his head.

Under the water the lake was black and crystal clear. Light came blue and dim through the ice and bright white through the hole overhead. Thomas reached up for the hole but his arms didn’t want to obey him. The water had sapped them of all their strength in an instant.

Loss of control.

Was that fear he felt? It was hard to say. Thomas kicked his feet, feeling them move slowly through the water. It was as if he were encased in glass, or as if the lake had frozen the second he dropped in, petrifying him like a fly in amber. He forced his arm to straighten, reaching up over his head. He couldn’t tell if his hand was touching ice or air or just water. He tried to close his fingers over something but he couldn’t tell if he had.

It wasn’t death that he feared. He could certainly die here and the thought didn’t scare him. He imagined death as just complete non-existence, not unlike this lake. He wouldn’t have control then, either, but he wouldn’t have the consciousness to care. Perhaps what he feared was the loss of control that led up to death. While the end result didn’t matter, it was the idea that he could do nothing whatsoever to affect the outcome that gave him pause.

The surface of the lake reappeared around him and he realized that Ducard was holding his wrist and pulling him out of the water. Ducard pulled him onto the ice. Thomas was shaking, water running from his face, sucking in gulps of air.

##

“It’s a serum to encourage cell regeneration,” Ducard said. This was the first time Thomas had seen him looking nervous. “At the moment I can’t stop it from sparking tumors.”

He showed Thomas his vials of clear yellow fluid and the cages of mice lining one wall of the lab. A few of the mice were covered in visible tumors. Ducard glanced at them and sighed.

“Those will have to be euthanized,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It’s just not working.”

It was as if the time on the lake had convinced Ducard of something or inspired some sense of trust. He had brought Thomas into his locked lab, where none of the others were allowed to go. Thomas perused the shelves, looking in on all the tiny mice and their out of control tumors.

“If I can get this to work, it can heal any damaged cells. Any physical wounds, the effects of aging, disease, anything.” He looked at the serum in anguish. “It’s not a cure for disease but it would keep people alive despite it.”

“It would cure death?” Thomas asked, looking at the yellow vials as well.

“Death, yes,” Ducard said. “With enough time. There are limits, of course. Accelerated healing leads to more scar tissue, which means that anything delicate like spinal cord breaks or brain damage might be impossible to heal. And, of course, cancer itself, which is just out-of-control growth.”

“You could live forever,” Thomas said.

“Yes.”

Thomas glanced at him. “Why?”

Ducard met his gaze, looking infinitely tired. “I really don’t know.” He turned away from the rats and paced to the door. “I started on this thinking that it was going to make the world a better place. Who wouldn’t want to cure all disease?” He laughed hollowly. “Of course, this technology will be too expensive for any but the wealthiest to afford it, which would make it unavailable to to the poor, oppressed populations of the world for decades, maybe even centuries. That’s just to be expected. But even if they could afford it, life is torture to people who are living in hell.”

“Will you finish it?”

“I will keep working on it,” Ducard said with a sigh. He sent one last glance at the vials and then headed for the door of the lab. Thomas spared a second to look at the mice again, lying helpless in their cages while the cancer grew out of control inside their tiny bodies. Somehow, staring at them, he understood. The reason Ducard had so easily recognized Thomas’s fear was because it was his own.

Loss of control.

##

“How soon after death would it need to be administered?” Thomas asked Ducard later, after the evening meditation. Ducard looked at him and smiled sadly.

“I imagine it would have to be immediate. The stress it places on the body increases exponentially with the amount of healing to be done. There are so many changes that come about with death that it would be a massive undertaking to repair. It could take a year, five years, ten years to repair that kind of damage. And that would be assuming that you administered the serum within a day.”

What lay unspoken was the thought of Thomas’s family. By now, fourteen years after their deaths, there shouldn’t be anything left of them. Thomas wasn’t really thinking of raising the dead, but the thought was there.

“How would it feel?”

Ducard shrugged. “Excruciating.”


	12. Chapter 12

“What do you think is wrong with him?” Superwoman asked the doctor.

The doctor gave her a nervous look. “It looks like he has sustained some, ah, brain damage, possibly from an extended period of blood loss,” he said, his eyes flickering to the MRI results in his hands.

“He’s retarded then?” Superwoman sounded disappointed.

“Well it seems that it may be healing.” Even the doctor sounded a little dubious at that. “It looks like he might be reversing the damage.”

Superwoman raised her eyebrows at him. The doctor cringed, looking as if he was expecting to be hit. Superwoman snorted a little.

“Well, tell me when he’s all better,” she said, sending one last glance at Owlman, laying on the bed. His eyes were slightly open but unfocused and he had not even attempted to help them when they broke him out of the jail. She turned away from him and heading for the door.

The hallway outside of the room was lit by a wall of windows that overlooked the city from the high perch of the seventy-fifth floor. Lois listened to her shoes click on the tile floor.

“So how is he?” Ultraman asked from down the hall, coming from the direction of the elevator. He moved with a swagger that Lois was slowly coming to despise. His tank top showed off bare, muscular arms.

“Someone slit his throat,” Superwoman said with a shrug. “But he’ll get over it.”

“The guy’s a fucking vegetable.” Ultraman stopped next to her, glancing towards the room where Ultraman lay. “I wonder if it’s not better to just put him out of his misery.”

“I said he’ll get over it,” Lois said a bit more sharply. “The doctor said he’s healing. He’ll be the same as he was.”

Ultraman flicked a glance at her. “Pity.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And until then, he can’t tell us a thing about whoever has the bomb.”

“I might have a solution for that,” Lois said. She started walking down the hall back the way Ultraman had come, listening to Ultraman make a sound of annoyance. He hated it when he was forced to chase after her. “The bomb puts off small amounts of radiation. The government has all sorts of radiation detectors all over the city to prevent a terrorist attack. If we lean on a few people, we can get access to those records before the Commissioner gets them.”

Ultraman’s long strides brought him to her side. “Tell me where to lean and I’ll lean.”

“Try to lean without maiming this time,” Lois said. “It might help us in the future if we don’t keep killing the people who can help us.”

Ultraman grunted. They reached the elevator and Lois hit the button, stepping inside when the doors opened. Ultraman came in after her.

“We’ve got to get that bomb soon,” he said in annoyance, watching as the elevator doors closed. “I don’t trust those psycho vigilantes with it for a moment.”

##

“You have served us well these three years,” Ducard said.

They were in the main hall, candles burning around them. The man they called Ra’s al Ghul stood behind Ducard, watching Thomas with inscrutable eyes. Ducard was perfectly composed, a small smile of pride on his face.

“You have learned everything we have to teach you,” he continued. “We have one final test.”

A man knelt between them, his hands tied behind his back, a hood over his head. He was shaking, his breath coming audibly through the fabric of the hood. Thomas stood with a sword in his hands. The other men of the temple, the ones who moved liked shadows and did every bidding of Ra’s al Ghul, stood around him.

“This man killed a neighbor for food because his family was starving. How would you deal with him?” Ducard watched him, still smiling.

Thomas looked down at the man, whose harsh breathing came louder as if he could sense Thomas standing there with his sword. He held the grip of the sword in both hands and raised it high.

As he brought it down, it clanged into metal--Ducard’s sword. Ducard’s face had lost the smile.

“That’s not the right answer,” Ducard said.

“He’s a murderer,” Thomas said.

“Who acted out of desperation. He will be punished, yes, but his crime is not the problem. His poverty is.”

“Would you pay him for it then?” Thomas asked witheringly. Ducard shook his head, looking disappointed.

“Have you learned nothing?”

Thomas lifted his sword free of Ducard’s and sent a slow glance around the room, taking in the men around him. “I’ve learned you’re a man who has incredible intelligence, and yet you’ll let _pity_ and _empathy_ hold you back from greatness.”

His sword hooked a brazier and flung it into the rafters. As the fire blossomed like a field of yellow flowers and Thomas made his escape--feint, left, right, predictable move after predictable move, how did these people even function?--he knew that while Ducard felt he had failed in teaching Thomas, that truly wasn’t the case. Thomas knew what suffering was. He knew what people could survive, and what they couldn’t. The way to truly make his skills into an art was not to kill people, but to keep them alive. Sustaining life on the knife edge of subsistence was infinitely harder. Ducard had given him the tools to control Gotham.

##

After seven years out of the country, Thomas’s return to Gotham was staggering. The city had gone a bit downhill since the last time he was there, which was quite an achievement. Boss Gordon’s hold on the city had slipped a little while a group known as the Crime Society of America gained power. Thomas had heard of them before, but never as a real threat to Boss Gordon’s hold over Gotham.

The city seemed different after his time in the gripping poverty of Bhutan, although there was a certain amount of poverty here as well. Here, at least, there was water, falling from the sky and steaming up from the sewers and dripping from pipes. It was an extravagance of water that the people in Bhutan would have killed for.

He didn’t realize how much his time in Bhutan had changed him until he returned to Gotham and saw the place that he had had Gordon hold for him. The idea of buying up a few strip clubs and tenements seemed suffocating to him now. He didn’t want his old spot back. Gordon suddenly seemed like a sloppy leader to him, nothing like the keen precision of Ducard, even taking into account Ducard’s weakness.

Instead of returning to Boss Gordon, he took a room in a hotel to regain his bearings. The room hummed with the distant sound of the ventilation system and the elevators, a constant noise that surrounded him and yet insulated him. He couldn’t hear the noise of the street outside and no other noise of people except when, once in a while, someone would walk down the hall.

It was so far removed from other people that Thomas felt that he was alone for the first time in as long as he could remember. Even though Bhutan was desolate, there were always sounds of cows in the fields or women washing clothes or the cries of someone in pain in Ducard’s lab. Even in a temple with the silent army that Ducard had trained, there was still the sense of humanity around him.

He turned on the television for the noise of it and took a quick shower. The habits of water rationing were too ingrained for him to waste more water than he needed. When he returned to the bedroom, toweling his hair, the television was showing a press conference with the Gotham city police about allegations of corruption and police violence. A man with a craggy face and graying hair was on the screen, and below him was the name: Commissioner Thomas Wayne Sr.

“…Take these allegations quite seriously and they are going to be investigated thoroughly. Gotham is taking steps for a brighter future, but we won’t be able to find justice if our own police force is compromised.”

There was a rush of questions but Thomas didn’t hear them. He just stared at the screen, at his father’s face. The corrupt cop had shot his father twice. Thomas had stayed around to see it happen before running out of the alley. He had seen Bruce’s brains on his mother’s shirt, seen his mother crumpling over with the bullet to her gut, and seen his father take a bullet in the chest. That night fourteen years ago was the complete foundation of his existence. Was he dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Had he stumbled into some other world?

Could the rest of his family be alive as well?

##

The apartment seemed friendlier with Duela and Talon in it. Eddie’s room didn’t seem as dark and depressing when they were all filling it.

Duela had announced that she was hungry, so she and Jackie went through takeout menus to find something to eat. Talon still seemed to be uncomfortable around them and Bruce could tell that Jackie wasn’t too pleased having him around, but he was practically a son-in-law so it didn’t look like they would be kicking him out anytime soon.

Several months ago, Jackie had told Bruce all about his daughter and that tragic day when she had run away with Talon. Bruce knew that the memory of what he had said had haunted Jackie for a long time, and it was nice to see him looking so happy. There were a few too many shadows in Jackie’s eyes for Bruce to be entirely comfortable, but this return to Jackie’s Gotham seemed to be erasing a few of them. Actually, Jackie’s good mood seemed to be almost on the edge of _too_ hyper, which was something Bruce hadn’t seen since he first met Jackie six months ago.

Bruce could see a lot of Jackie in Duela. It wasn’t just the eyes and facial structure. It was the way that she laughed openly, her eyes crinkling up, or the way that she gently teased everyone around her. Three Face seemed to have a far more cutting sense of humor that never quite exposed how she felt inside, but Duela was honest when she laughed.

Talon was watching the two of them, loitering near Bruce. He kept stealing glances at Bruce.

“I know I look just like him,” Bruce said. “I’ve met him before.”

“It’s weird,” Talon said, frowning. “I know he had a younger brother named Bruce.”

“Did he mention him?” Bruce felt faintly surprised. It didn’t seem like the Owlman he knew to reminisce.

“No.” Talon snorted. “But I knew his background.”

“Do you know anything about the other Bruce?” His talk with his father earlier today made him curious about what the other him had been like.

“No. He was eight when he died.” Talon shrugged, his attention shifting back to Duela, who seemed to be debating between Thai food and Indian.

“But I love Indian food,” Duela was saying, flipping through the menu. “So does Talon.”

Jackie pushed the Thai menu towards her. “Bruce hates it. We could order both, I guess?”

Duela took the Thai menu and then glanced at Bruce, a furrow appearing between her brows. Bruce caught her gaze. She looked at him, then back at Jackie, then towards Eddie on the bed. Jackie seemed oblivious, but Bruce felt a rush of understanding. Jackie hadn’t told her about his relationship with Bruce, but she must have just figured it out.

“Eddie, which do you prefer?” Duela asked, a note in her voice that Bruce couldn’t read.

“I don’t think I’ll have anything,” Eddie said. “I’m just…not hungry.”

“We can get you something later,” Jackie told him quietly.

“Well, whatever. We’ll just order both.” Duela tossed down the menu and stood up abruptly. “Bruce, do you mind picking it up?”

“Give me a minute to shower and I’ll go with you,” Jackie said to Bruce.

Duela caught his hand. “No, you stay. I wanted to talk to you about everything that’s been going on since I’ve been gone.”

Bruce could take the hint. “I’m fine picking it up on my own. Just tell me where to go.”

Duela gave him the address of the restaurants and Jackie escaped to the shower. By the time Duela had ordered the food over the phone and Bruce was ready to go, Jackie was out of the shower again. Bruce waved to him and headed out the door. Talon followed.

“You’ll need help carrying,” he said by way of explanation when Bruce glanced back at him. Bruce shrugged and let him follow.

Back out in the late afternoon sunlight, the two of them walked side-by-side to the first restaurant. Even if Bruce hadn’t know that Talon used to be Owlman’s sidekick, he would have figured it out by the way that Talon watched everything out of the corners of his eyes, constantly alert to everything that went on around him. He reminded Bruce of himself as an angry teenager, except a hundred times more dangerous. Bruce knew that Talon was sizing him up as well, and he wondered briefly how he was measuring up. It had been six months since he had been Batman. It seemed a lifetime ago.

“She looks like she really loves you,” Bruce said once they had walked a block. Talon glanced at him.

“Are you going to interrogate me now?” he asked.

“I figured I might as well.” Bruce gave him a half-smile. “I think Jackie would rather punch you than interrogate you.”

“Yeah, well.” Talon gave him a dark look. “He’s never liked me.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine why. Bruce nodded. “He’s a father. That’s what fathers do.”

“And you’re just an unbiased observer.”

“Think of me more as an uncle.”

“I kind of figured.” Talon smirked a little. “It was a little obvious.”

“Are you going to stick around when the baby is born?”

Talon looked startled at the suddenly direct question. “Yes,” he said immediately.

“Are you sure? You’re, what, seventeen?”

“Seventeen, yeah. And yes I’m sure. I’ve been with her for a year and a half.”

“Did you know the CSA was following when you went to Duela’s house?”

Talon shot him a glare. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to her. Why would I want to kill her family?”

“As payment for Owlman to let you go,” Bruce returned.

Talon gaped slightly. “But I didn’t know. Look, I love Duela. I’m not a sociopath. I wouldn’t betray her family so I could be with her. I mean, if I did and she found out, she would never forgive me.”

“What was your plan going to be if her family had taken the news better? Would you have tried to live with them? Owlman would never have just let you switch sides.”

“If her family had taken it well, we would have worked something out. I could have joined them. I mean, up until that point Owlman didn’t know where their hideout was. I could have lived with them and been safe from him.” He gave Bruce an intense look. “No one can leave the CSA. Once you’re in it, you’re in for life. There’s a price on my head now and Owlman won’t be lenient just because I was his sidekick for a few years. I gave up everything to be with Duela, and I didn’t just do that for a cheap fling.”

“That still doesn’t disprove my theory that you led Owlman to her house in exchange for getting a clean escape,” Bruce pointed out.

Talon sighed in frustration. “If I did, why would we come back? I would make sure neither of us came anywhere near Gotham again.”

“True,” Bruce allowed. “Unless you heard that Owlman had gone missing and you thought there might be a place for you back with the CSA.”

“Owlman is missing?” Talon looked startled. “What happened?”

“ He was in my Gotham for a while, and then he was…injured,” Bruce said. They had just about reached the Thai restaurant. “He showed up again a few days ago.”

“I heard that there were riots in Gotham. I guess that’s not really a surprise if Owlman was out of town,” Talon said thoughtfully. “He always told me that Ultraman would end up driving the city into ruin if he wasn’t around to stop him.”

“Or if you weren’t here,” Bruce said. Talon sighed.

“Alright, look. I can prove to you that I’m onto in this for Duela, okay?”

“Go on,” Bruce said sardonically.

“I’ll tell you where their headquarters are. You guys can get your revenge on them in the same way that they attacked you. That’s what you want, right?” Talon looked at him seriously. “You can pay them back for what they did.”

##

“Please tell me that I’m mistaken,” Duela said as soon as the door closed behind Bruce and Talon.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jackie said.

“You and Bruce,” she said. “Please tell me that you aren’t together with him.”

Jackie looked at her guiltily. He hadn’t told her because he was pretty sure that it wouldn’t go over well.

“I’ve been living with him for six months,” he said.

Duela shot a look at Eddie, then back at Jackie. “Daddy, how can you do that to us?”

“Do what to you? You were gone,” Jackie said, his own anger surprising himself. “I thought Eddie and Eve were dead. I was on my own for eight months. This wasn’t some sort of attempt to hurt you.”

“Don’t turn this around on me,” Duela said. “You guys were all so happy together. Even if they had died--”

“Duela, drop it,” Eddie said sharply. “I don’t blame Jackie for finding someone else. If I had died, I certainly wouldn’t expect either him or Eve to stay alone forever.”

“But you were my parents,” Duela said in anguish. “What about now? You know you’re all alive. You can start over. We’re all back together again. We’ll get Mom and we’ll start over.”

“It’s never going to be the same way it was,” Jackie said sadly. “It’s just different.”

“But why?” Duela’s eyes spilled over in tears. “You’re dating someone who looks just like Owlman. You don’t think that’s a little disturbing? I mean we spend our lives fighting him and you hook up with his _twin_?”

“Bruce is different.”

“Please,” Duela scoffed. “And I’m sure his sparkling wit makes up for all the times you look into his eyes and see the man who cut your face open and who tortured Mom.”

“I know what he looks like,” Jackie said in annoyance. “I know it sounds weird but--”

“It’s _creepy_. I mean, did you always look at Owlman that way? Are you going to look at Owlman that way _now_?”

“Duela,” Eddie said again. “Please, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Duela said. “It grosses me out. You’re sleeping with the enemy.”

“You ran off with Talon,” Jackie said in disbelief. “And he’s the one who _actually_ fought against us all those years.”

She slapped him. For Duela, it was a light hit, although Jackie’s ears were still ringing when she withdrew her hand. Eddie had started up on the bed, his face turned in their direction. Duela stared at Jackie, a look of horror crossing her face.

“Oh my God, Dad, I’m sorry,” she said. The tears, which had been drying on her cheeks, came back with a vengeance. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay,” Jackie said, rubbing his cheek. Her face crumpled and he pulled her into a hug. She leaned against his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, crying hard. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jackie said, rubbing her back. “It’s okay, Duela. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

Eddie reached out to them, resting his hand on Duela’s shoulder. She reached out and clasped her hand over it, hugging Jackie against her. For a moment, in the dim light of Eddie’s room, it seemed no time had passed at all.

##

Commissioner Wayne sat in his office, the phone nestled between his ear and his shoulder. On his desk, his notebook lay open to a page of notes.

“You’re sure it was him and not Owlman?” he said.

“Yes,” said the policeman on the other end of the phone. “He was walking under his own power. It looked like he was with a young man who matched the description of Jason Todd.”

“Alright.” Commissioner Wayne clicked his ball point pen. “Make sure you find out exactly where they’re headed. If he’s not going to tell me where the bomb is, we’re going to have to find it on our own.”


	13. Chapter 13

The kitchen in the apartment was getting dim as the late afternoon sunlight shifted away to leave the tiny window in shadow. Mostly empty take out food cartons were piled on the kitchen table, far from Eddie, who said the smell nauseated him. He was on a restricted diet due to his chemotherapy treatments, which left him with very little appetite.

Duela still wouldn’t pay much attention to Bruce, despite her apologies to Jackie. Jackie had a feeling he knew what was going on with her. She had come back with the expectation that everything was going to be the same as she’d left it. She took it as a personal affront that things had changed, although at the same time she felt guilty because she had been indirectly responsible for the change.

Jackie sat with an ice pack on his knee, his foot propped up on Bruce’s lap, a fact that Duela was pointedly ignoring. His knee was throbbing angrily at him for all of the abuse he had given it today. Really, he was surprised it hadn’t given out on him at some point during the day, what with all the stairs and running he had done.

“What’s the plan now?” Duela asked, leaning back in her chair. Talon (he preferred to be called Jason now) sat next to her with a hand clasped casually on the back of her neck, a fact that Jackie was also trying to ignore. It seemed that he had his own issues to deal with, but he felt he had a little more justification. After all, it was a father’s duty to look out for his teenage daughter’s best interests.

“We know where the headquarters are,” Bruce said. “But I don’t think it’s a very good idea to just try to get revenge.”

“Why not?” Talon asked.

“Well, partly because that’s exactly what we’re trying to stop Three Face from doing,” Jackie pointed out.

“Also because we’d die,” Bruce said.

“Could Mom know where the headquarters are?” Duela asked. “She could be heading there now.”

“She didn’t get any information from Owlman. How many other people know where the headquarters are?” Bruce glanced towards Talon.

“It’s a regular office building with a number of different companies in it. The CSA owns the top twenty floors, although they use a securities company as their front. I don’t think the people in the office building know the CSA is up there. The CSA has some minions working for them but if she knew enough to know who they were, she would know where the CSA was.”

“So let’s say the CSA members know. Ultraman, Superwoman, Power Ring, Johnny Quick, Owlman, and you,” Jackie said.

“I'm not a member anymore,” Talon said quietly.

“The only one she had a chance of getting the information from was Owlman,” Jackie continued without acknowledging that. “But of course, she doesn’t really need to know where the headquarters are in order to kill them all with the bomb. It can take out this entire city and everyone in it.”

“She’s not just going to set it off with us in it, though,” Duela said, looking at Jackie in confusion. “She would let us know first.”

Jackie said nothing. He knew Eddie was listening to their conversation in the other room. Bruce rested his hands on Jackie’s ankle, making small circles on his skin with his thumb. Jackie glanced over at him.

“She would warn us first,” Duela insisted.

“She might,” Jackie said finally.

“She’s not going to kill us. I find it hard to believe that she would kill everyone else in the city, too. She hates the CSA and I know she would do anything to get at them, but she wouldn’t kill innocent people.”

“She was angry when I saw her last,” Jackie said. “She said that sometimes you have to make sacrifices.”

“But what about _her_? Is she going to kill herself?”

Jackie shrugged. Duela shook her head firmly.

“She just wouldn’t do that. She probably just wants to attack the CSA. You said the bomb can be broken into parts, right? She’ll be trying to find the CSA.”

Bruce cocked his head to the side. “Do you hear--?”

There were footsteps on the stairs outside the door. Someone banged suddenly on the door, loud enough that they all jumped. “This is the police. Open up.”

Jackie and Bruce exchanged dismayed looks. Duela got up but Bruce waved her back with his hand. Jackie and Bruce both got up and Bruce went to the door. He opened it.

The police poured into the apartment, guns raised, shouting at the tops of their lungs. They forced everyone down to the floor, handcuffing them and training guns on them while they searched the rest of the apartment. Jackie heard them shouting at Eddie in the other room and he shifted, wanting to go in and help Eddie, but the police officer standing over him nudged him forcefully with the toe of his boot. Jackie took the hint.

“What’s going on?” Bruce demanded of the police, still laying on his stomach. None of them answered him. Jackie rolled his eyes up to look at the officers standing around them. He didn’t know their faces. He wondered if they were the Commissioner’s men or the CSA’s. In either case, they were in a lot of trouble.

In ten minutes, the police had turned the place upside down and apparently decided that Three Face and the bomb were nowhere to be seen. They returned to the kitchen and pulled Duela to her feet.

“How old are you?” the officer asked her.

“Sixteen,” she answered, her face tight with anger.

“You got any parents?”

She pointed at Jackie. “That’s my dad right there.”

The officers got Jackie up to his feet. “We’ve got some questions for you both.”

They all passed through the living room, where Eddie was lying on the bed, handcuffed. Jackie felt a surge of rage, but he said nothing. He could hear the other officers already starting to question Talon and Bruce in the kitchen. The officers brought them into Three Face’s room. It was a small room with just her bed in it and very little else.

“What’s your name?” the officer asked Duela.

“Duela.”

“Last name?”

“Dent.”

“We’re looking for Evelyn Dent. Do you know where she is?”

“I haven’t seen her in more than a year.”

“Isn’t she your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Hasn’t she been living at this address?”

“I haven’t.”

“Where have you been living?”

Duela shrugged. “All over the place.”

The officer turned his attention on Jackie. “Have you seen your wife recently?”

“We’re not married.”

The police officer shrugged.

“I haven’t seen her since this morning,” Jackie said coolly.

“What were you doing this morning?”

There were so many ways to answer that question that Jackie wasn’t quite sure how to start, especially since one of the answers involved ‘escaping from jail’. “Well, I bought some doughnuts.”

“Are we really going to go through this the hard way?” asked the officer, disappointed.

“Sorry, I don’t know exactly what you’re looking fo--” Jackie abruptly stopped when the officer drew his gun from his holster. The officer put the gun to Duela’s temple.

“We’re in a bit of a crisis here,” the officer said. “Maybe this will refresh your memory.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jackie exclaimed, his eyes wide. “There’s no need for that.”

“Are we going to play games or are you going to answer my questions?” The officer’s eyes were cold. Jackie tried shakily to decide if this was one of Wayne’s men or one of the CSA’s. Either one seemed capable of this.

“I don’t know where Eve is,” Jackie said, watching the spot where the gun was pressing against Duela’s head. “The last I saw of her was when she was at her mother’s house this morning. Eddie called the police after that, but she had already left.”

“And what were you doing with her at her mother’s house?”

“She drove me there. We were supposed to come back here but she went there instead. I don’t know why. Please, put the gun away.”

“She didn’t say where she was going after that?”

“No, but I know she stayed in the neighborhood, because later she called the police on my father’s house.”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t know. Around three?”

“And you haven’t heard anything from her since?”

“Not a peep.”

“Do you think she’ll be back here?”

Jackie shifted his eyes to the officer’s face. “Why do you think we called the police on her earlier? We want to stop her and she knows that. She’s not coming back here.”

“You want to stop her?” the police officer said suspiciously. “Didn’t you help her steal the bomb this morning?”

“It wasn’t for us to use. It was to get it away from the CSA.”

The officer lowered the gun from Duela’s head and Jackie breathed a sigh of relief. He holstered the gun.

“We’re taking you down to the station. Maybe you’ll be able to think up some better answers to my questions there.”

##

“And here we are again,” Commissioner Wayne said to Bruce. “I haven’t seen you in years and now I see you three times in two days.”

“You had me followed,” Bruce growled.

“You obviously weren’t going to give me the information I needed on your own,” Commissioner Wayne said. His expression turned concerned. “Bruce, I want you to understand. I am not doing this to punish you. I just need you to see that these people you are with are criminals.”

“They’re fighting crime.”

“They’re vigilantes. Vigilantism is domestic terrorism,” Commissioner Wayne said sharply. “Attempting to control the citizens of Gotham through fear is the very definition of terrorism, even if you believe that you’re doing it with their best interests in mind. Starting riots is _fear mongering_. Dressing in costumes is _fear mongering_. These are not what unauthorized people should be doing.”

“The police are doing a good enough job of fear mongering,” Bruce said. “They held a gun to the head of a _sixteen-year-old girl._ ”

“He had a _badge_ and there are _lives at stake_ ,” Commissioner Wayne replied.

“He was on a _power trip_ ,” Bruce spat back. “Not only that, your men dragged a sick man from his bed to bring him to the police station. We are _on your side_ and you’re prosecuting us instead of looking for Three Face.”

“If you were on my side, you would have told me where Three Face’s hideout was in the first place. You wanted to hide the information from me to protect your vigilante friends. Well, guess what? We’re _not_ on the same side and when you chose them, you turned away from me.”

“Why are you insisting on turning away the only help you have?”

“I don’t need the kind of help people like you can give me.”

“I’m not your long lost son, Commissioner. The father I know would never have done this. My father knew that sometimes police officers aren’t the people best poised to save lives. Sometimes it’s private citizens who need to do what’s right.”

“Right and wrong is not yours to decide.” Commissioner Wayne pushed back his chair, looking angry. “You think you’re so noble. Back in your Gotham you might have been a hero, but I heard what you told me yesterday. The police over there didn’t play by your rules either, did they? Now you come here hoping to get someone who’ll indulge you, someone like me who lost a son. It’s not going to happen.”

“We don’t need your kind of _indulgence_ ,” Bruce snapped. “You don’t know the first thing about what’s going on. Three Face goes missing with the bomb and you go after the people who tried to turn her in. She is planning on destroying the CSA.”

“The CSA?” Commissioner Wayne raised his eyebrows. “With that kind of bomb?”

“She doesn’t seem to be too worried about collateral damage.”

“She’s going to set it off at CSA headquarters?”

“If she can find it.”

Commissioner Wayne looked interested now. “And that must have been why she kidnapped Owlman. She wanted to get the information from him.”

“She couldn’t get anything from him. He’s mostly incapable of speech, apparently.”

Commissioner Wayne nodded thoughtfully. “She must be looking for some way of finding out where the headquarters are.”

Bruce watched him. His father’s face was going through a transformation as he seemed to have an idea. It made Bruce nervous.

“That boy Jason Todd knows where the headquarters are, and soon so will we,” Commissioner Wayne said thoughtfully. “All we need to do is put him in a conspicuous place, and…” He shrugged. “She’ll certainly be interested in coming to see him.”

“She’ll kill him,” Bruce said. “He ran off with her daughter. She’s not going to wait around to question him.”

“I don’t care what she does to him,” Commissioner Wayne said, looking at him sharply. “So long as she does it within range of my men.”

##

Thomas’s mother and younger brother were buried in the family plot where all of his ancestors had been buried. Thomas took a taxi there and crunched through the dead leaves to the stones, which were weathered after fourteen years of exposure to the elements. The monument was taller than he was. Engraved in block letters at the top it said WAYNE, and below that it said MARTHA 1949-1986 AND THOMAS SR. 1945-

Below that, in smaller letters, it said BRUCE 1978-1986 AND THOMAS JR. 1976-

He had never thought about what would happen to his family’s bodies. Looking back now, it was strange that he hadn’t even thought to ask, but so much had happened. He had fled for his life and then run into Joe Chill and then it was just as if he had stepped into another world, one where he slept under a bridge and learned how to survive on the street. While he certainly thought about his family, he had never thought about the mechanics of funerals and grave sites. All he had thought about was that the police must have been looking for him because he had seen what they could do.

Would things have been different if he had known? Again, that question of how things would be different. He reached out and touched the etched lettering on the gravestone. His father had told him that his mother always saw the good in people. He wondered what she would have thought of him.

His father had seen his family die, just as Thomas had. And yet somehow, instead of taking that as the motivation to oppose the police at every turn, he had _joined them._

High in the tree above the graves, an owl hooted softly. Thomas glanced up into the tree to see the silhouetted shape. Joe would have been covering his ears at this point, afraid that it meant someone close to them was going to die. He wouldn’t be wrong.

##

Commissioner Wayne lived in Wayne Manor, which was nearly exactly the same as it had been when Thomas had seen it last, fourteen years ago. The grounds were still carefully manicured, the rose bushes and gardens kept up. Their old manservant Alfred still worked there, keeping his father company and taking care of the running of the estate. The housekeeper Mrs. Dawes had left years ago once there was no more need for her in the house to take care of the boys and clean up after them. Commissioner Wayne seemed to have very few needs when he was the only one around.

He still had one, though, and when Thomas saw Commissioner Wayne and his fiancée get out of the Rolls in front of the house and climb the steps, he felt range kindle in him that he couldn’t quite understand. The woman looked to be a few decades younger than the Commissioner, with carefully styled red hair and expensively tailed clothes. He filed away her face in his head for further research.

It wasn’t until later, when he found her face in the local newspaper as a lawyer with Wayne Enterprises named Nicole Reese that he identified the emotion he was feeling. It was betrayal. It wasn’t just that his father had gone over to the enemy by becoming the commissioner. It was that he had decided to start a new family as well. Was he taking this as some sort of clean slate? Was he starting over? Did he ever think about his missing son?

##

He returned to the hotel and emptied the minibar, a belated teenage rebellion. He drank everything that was there and then left the hotel to go get some more, but when he got into the taxi, instead of telling him to find the nearest liquor store, he gave him the directions for the graveyard and they went.

It was getting late at night and the gates to the graveyard were closed. Thomas dismissed the taxi and then scaled the fence, proud that he still retained some of his skills even when he was so drunk he could barely walk in a straight line. He trekked through the graveyard until he found the grave again and sat down on the grass in front of it.

He didn’t know what made him start digging. All he had were his hands and a broken stick from the tree, but he went at that grave for two hours before he finally gave up, only a foot and a half down from the surface. Graves were a lot harder to dig than they seemed on television, especially when he had no good tools with him. He sat half-in the grave, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking down into the dirt.

He reached into his pocket and took out the tiny yellow vial of serum that he had been carrying with him ever since Bhutan. In the dim light of the graveyard it looked colorless. This vial would bring the dead back to life, as long as he administered it directly to the heart and there was enough liquid present to circulate it through the system. Certainly after fourteen years there would be no blood left but the heart might still be there more or less. If he could get the body to a mortician, he could use one of the machines they used to circulate embalming fluid through the body. Ducard had never experimented with such a long-dead body but Thomas was sure it would work. It would be…

 _Excruciating_ , Ducard had said.

Thomas kept looking down into the pit he had dug. He kept remembering that stupid flicker of hope he had had when he saw his father on television, the wild thought that his whole family could have been alive. They were still just as dead as they had always been, but now he felt grief anew.

He turned the vial over and over in his hand, imagining his mother’s corpse slowly filling with life again. The mice had made squeals and shrieks when they were raised from the dead or healed from a severe wound. They had attacked each other and themselves, driven into some incomprehensible frenzy. Their tiny brains had been unable to handle the stress. He remembered Bruce’s brains on his mother’s shirt.

##

Jason stood on the street corner, his hands hanging loose at his sides. People flowed on the sidewalk behind him, oblivious to his loudly beating heart.

Traffic snarled in the street, cars rushing past as fast as they could to avoid the red light. Jason waited, watching the traffic lights slowly turn from green to yellow to red.

There was an unmarked police car across the street. Two officers inside watched him. Further down the street was another car, and a couple police officers in plain clothes were following him. The pedestrian sign changed to ‘walk’. He took a breath and started across the street.

They had tried this in two other places in the city now. The first had been down closer to Eve’s mother’s house. That one had been hard to pull off, since the streets there were nearly deserted and it was hard to hide a number of police behind the anemic hedges. Here, though, there were a ton of people moving all around them. The police officers were hidden in the crowd.

The second place they had tried this was a lot closer to Eddie and Eve’s apartment, with the idea that Eve might be thinking of coming back home. They had had the same results as the first time. If Eve was there, she wasn’t biting.

Jason reached the far side of the street and stepped up onto the sidewalk. He was wearing jeans, which covered up the tracking device on his ankle. His ankle was sweating underneath the bracelet. If he made a run for it, they would be able to track him down well before he got the bracelet off.

He started down the next block, knowing that the police were moving their positions to follow. The spot between his shoulder blades was itching, waiting for a bullet. Three Face wasn’t going to ask him questions about the CSA if she found him. She was just going to kill him, and he really didn’t want that. If he was lucky, the police might make it to his side in time to save him from whatever type of stabby death Three Face wanted to inflict on him, but he had a feeling that their first priority was not going to be him. After all, he was a former member of the CSA. What did they care if he bought it?

It was early evening and the sky was turning a sort of mauve color, deepening into indigo at the edges. The streets were bright enough with the streetlights and the storefronts and the headlights of the cars. Jason was approaching City Hall, which had spotlights up the front of the building, illuminating incised bas reliefs of historic events in the facade. The crowd bustled past him on both sides, so close and crowded that he kept losing sight of the street.

On his very next step, Jason felt the air go out of his lungs. Something hit him in the gut so hard that he didn’t even have time to be surprised or look to see what was going on. He was just on his knees, one hand on his stomach, his mouth gaping widely for air. None of it wanted to go into his lungs.

“That was for my daughter,” Three Face said, grabbing his arm and hauling him back to his feet while startled pedestrians looked on. “I was going to hit lower but we have to run.”

Jason stumbled when she yanked hard on his arm and pulled him into an alley. He glanced over his shoulder to see the police scrambling to cut them off. The two police on foot were racing towards them.

Two men in wifebeaters and sunglasses were loitering inside the alley. Three Face and Jason squeezed past them without a word. Jason saw them both draw guns, their eyes watching the end of the alley where the police were going to appear.

Three Face yanked him down the alley to the other end, where a station wagon was waiting.

“Inside,” she said, yanking the door open. He tumbled into the car and tried to straighten himself out as she got in as well and slammed the door. The car started and screeched away from the curb.

Three police cars came screaming around the corner towards them, two behind and one in front, but as if they had been waiting for it, a few cars pulled out of parking spots to cut them off, parking haphazardly across the road. Three Face pulled the car in between the cars and the police, making it past them and heading down the street.

“Ankle,” Jason wanted to say, but his lungs weren’t quite working yet and in any case, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea warning Three Face about the tracking device. At least if she wanted to torture him first, the police would be able to track him down.

“How many police were following you?” Three Face asked him, swinging the car around a corner and blasting down the street. Sirens were wailing in the distance.

Jason slowly worked the air back into his lungs. His diaphragm was sullenly refusing to cooperate. He held up six fingers.

“Good, I saw them all,” she said, nodding to herself. “Commissioner Wayne’s men have a thing or two to learn about being unobtrusive.”

“Where are we going?” Jason croaked out. He looked over his shoulder into the back seat but it was empty. The bomb was somewhere else.

“We are going for a quick little ride while you tell me everything you know about the CSA,” Three Face said. “Then I’m going to kick you out of the car and you can lead the police away from me while I go and deliver a package to your friends.”

“They’re not my friends anymore,” Jason said.

“Well then I won’t put your name on the card.” Three Face beamed at him. “So start talking.”

“Who was that back there, working with you?”

“I’m not the only person in this city who wants to get rid of the CSA,” Three Face said with a shrug.

“Do they know you’re going to just bomb the entire city and kill them all?”

She looked at him with something almost like amusement. “Where did you get that idea?”

Jason stared at her. “You know what I’m talking about.”

She glanced at him and said nothing. He had never had a real conversation with her before; in the past, it had always been exchanging witty repartee while avoiding behind murdered. Still, he had heard Duela talk about her mother, and he knew that Three Face was not as charming and cheerful as she was acting right now.

“You can’t set that bomb off in the city,” Jason said. “Duela is here. She’s pregnant.”

“Fuck you,” she snapped back instantly, her eyes narrowing. She squinted out the windshield at the cars in front of them. “I don’t want to hear your lies. My daughter is dead.”

“Commissioner Wayne and his men arrested us all earlier. She’s in jail right now. You could talk to her.”

“If I just turn myself in?”

“If you just stop this insanity!”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Three Face looked derisive. The sirens had dropped away behind them and they seemed to be free of the police. Three Face was taking them towards the Narrows.

“Where are we going?” Jason asked again.

“I told you. We’re going for a ride. You’re going to tell me where the CSA spends their time.”

Jason studied her. She looked very serious.

“I’ll tell you how to get to them if you promise not to destroy the city. I don’t care if you take them out. Get your revenge. But you can’t kill us all.”

She smiled. “It’s a deal.”

“How will I know that you’ll keep your promise?”

“I don’t know. I guess you won’t.”

“Split the bomb up,” Jason said. “Give most of it back to the police. They’ll probably be less interested in you if you don’t have all that firepower.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“Do it and I’ll tell you where the headquarters are, but not a minute earlier.”

She smirked. “Lovely. I think--”

A car pulled in front of them in traffic and Three Face cursed, hitting the brakes. Jason saw that it was one of the cars from earlier, the ones that had stopped the police from chasing them. How it had found them, Jason didn’t know. He wondered if the police were tracking his ankle bracelet.

“Fucking Gordon, I told him I could handle this,” Three Face said, throwing the car into park in the middle of the street. She flung open the door and got out. Two big men in suits had gotten out of the car ahead of them. They were solid, muscular men, the kind with hands the size of dinner plates who could probably bench press Three Face with one hand.

Jason opened his door and got out as well. More car doors slammed behind him as men got out of another car. They were surrounded.

“I’m handling this,” Three Face snapped to one of the men. “I don’t need your interference.”

“The Boss wants to make sure you question the kid while he’s around,” the thug said.

“I don’t need his expertise!”

“He wants to make sure there isn’t any miscommunications,” the thug said. “He doesn’t want you to forget to give him any information.”

“We’re working together. I’m not going to lie to him,” Three Face said.

Two of the thugs came up behind Jason. He turned to face them, wary.

“You’ll be coming with us,” one of them said. He was holding a gun low at his hip.

Jason sized the two men up. They were common street thugs, a dime a dozen. The CSA used them sometimes when they wanted to get work done, but Three Face had mentioned Gordon, so they must be Boss Gordon’s guys. That didn’t make them any less dangerous, just different.

“I think I’d like to stay with Three Face,” he said.

“Oh, don’t worry. She’s coming too.”

“Hey.” Three Face noticed them. “You don’t fucking touch him. I said I’m _dealing_ with this.”

“May I?” said one of the thugs, squatting down. Jason gave him a startled look, taking a step back. The other thug leveled his gun at him.

The first thug took hold of Jason’s ankle, exposing the bracelet under his pant leg. He took some sort of wire cutters from the pocket of his pants and began to work at the bracelet, cutting through it.

“You’re apparently not dealing with it, if you left his bracelet on,” one of the thugs said. “Gordon isn’t going to take no for an answer.”

Three Face looked pissed. Looking at her, Jason realized something. She didn’t want him to see Gordon because he might tell Gordon her real plan of destroying Gotham. Gordon wasn’t going to want that any more than Jason did.

The thug removed the bracelet and stood up again. “Come on,” he said, nodding towards the car.

“Okay,” Jason said, letting them guide him to it and inside. He heard Three Face shouting angrily but he ignored her.


	14. Chapter 14

Evelyn Dent left home pregnant when she was seventeen years old, all of her worldly possessions packed in an oversized purse. She had two hundred dollars to her name and no destination in mind.

Later she would tell Jackie that she left because she was afraid how her mother would react when she found out Eve was pregnant, and that was all true, but it wasn’t the whole story. She had been thinking of getting out of there for a while. Her mother had always been a two-faced bitch, harping on everything Eve did. She would be sweet as honey to Eve’s friends when they came over, although the second they left, her mother would start in on them. She had hated Jackie. “That boy has no future,” she had said after she first met him. “You can see it in his eyes. No money, no skills, and not too bright, either.” She had given Eve a sharp look. “Then again, I guess you wouldn’t find much better than that who would have you, would you?’

Her mother would have been horrified to know that Jackie had knocked her up, and Eve couldn’t bear the thought of forcing another child to grow up in her mother’s care. She left three days after the pregnancy test. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision after all that, but Eve didn’t think she would have chosen differently if she’d had to do it again.

She ended up giving birth in a women’s shelter in the Narrows. They had told her social services would take the baby away if she didn’t have a permanent address so she gave them her mother’s address and told them that her father was abusive but she would be fine with the baby. They let her keep it and Eve named her Duela.

Eve had known it would be hard bringing up her daughter as a single teenage mother in Gotham, but things worked out pretty well. She managed to get a small apartment that she shared with two other women from the women’s shelter and she collected welfare checks for a while until she was no longer breast feeding and could arrange for a babysitter. She got a job as a waitress and managed to maintain a steady job for the next seven years until Duela started school.

From time to time she sent letters home to her parents letting them know that she was okay and that she just needed some time to herself. She never gave them a return address or a phone number. She fooled herself into thinking that she was doing quite well for herself, and for a while she was.

When she was twenty-four years old, Eve worked days as a waitress in a small restaurant in the Narrows. She would get off work with enough time to meet the school bus at her apartment building and then had the whole evening to be with Duela. It was barely enough money to cover the rent but she managed.

She was leaving the restaurant one afternoon in the early fall when she began to realize that someone was following her. She could feel his presence between her shoulder blades but whenever she turned around, there was no one there. It made her nervous, but she had to hurry home to pick up Duela, so she did.

Nothing happened for the next week, but then the feeling returned again. She tried to catch the reflection of whoever it was in the store windows that she passed but she couldn’t pick anyone out who looked like they were following her. She got home and picked up Duela from the bus and when she got upstairs, she found both of her roommates with their throats slit.

She was never able to remember exactly how she called the police when she was in such hysterics, but they came and they took her and Duela to the station for a while. They listened seriously to her story of the man following her, but since she hadn’t seen anyone and had no description to give them, there was nothing they could do about it. They collected evidence from the crime scene and told her they would do a thorough investigation. They asked her if she had someone to call, but she didn’t and so instead she just got a hotel room for the night with Duela.

She would find out later that the man had followed her to the hotel and broken in when she fell asleep. He took Duela and left her tied and gagged in the bathtub. He stuffed towels under the door to the room to muffle the noise and then gagged Eve before he woke her up.

She would find out later that he had paid for the room for a week and left a sign on the door that they not be disturbed. He paid the front desk in cash.

She would find out later that the torture went on for two days. He had left a gag in her mouth to keep her from screaming and it wicked out all moisture until the most excruciating thing was her terrible thirst, tightening her skin and burning her eyes and clogging her throat. She would have done anything for water. He waited until the hallucinations took her at the end of the second day, until she was no longer capable of conscious thought, before leaving her and Duela to die.

She would find out later that after another six hours, a maid heard Duela banging on the wall of the bathroom and had come in to investigate.

None of that was in her head when it happened, though. At a certain point she just fractured like a dropped glass, and only caught snatches of what happened. A therapist later explained that some memories were so traumatic that the mind takes those memories and blocks them off into segments, so there is a part of you that remembers the trauma and a part of you that doesn’t. A part that experienced it and a part that didn’t. Eve wasn’t there for those two days, but the other two were. They were there, and they memorized his face.

Eve woke one morning eight months later. It was as if she had traveled through time, only she was physically different. She was living in a different place. Her hair was cut in two different styles. She had clothes she didn’t remember buying and food she didn’t remember eating. And Duela was gone.

##

Three Face came in to the restaurant yelling, which was something Boss Gordon was beginning to learn that she did a lot. She was a belligerent woman who walked with a long stride and didn’t take shit from anyone. It was strange that she worked for the good guys in Gotham. She would have been good on his team.

“I thought we had a deal,” she said to Gordon, dragging out a chair from opposite him and sitting down. He liked that. Bold.

The kid behind her was a lot younger, probably just in his mid teens. He had a dark look in his eyes, though. He looked as if he was sizing up Gordon to decide if he could take him in a fight. Gordon remembered the kid, even though it had been a few years since he had seen him last. Talon had been probably fourteen or fifteen then, tagging along after Owlman like a shadow, his perfect little psychotic protégé.

In the past fourteen years, Boss Gordon had become a kind of scavenger in the city of Gotham. The CSA ruled just about everything nowadays. Their hands were in the gambling, the drugs, the whores, the protection rackets…basically everything rotten in Gotham. Gordon took whatever was left, organizing the scraps into his own bit of business. Before the CSA came to Gotham, he had been the one in complete control, but now he was a scavenger, and he was doing what he could to survive.

He and his family owned a few restaurants down in the Narrows and he would divide his time among all of them, listening to business deals and bestowing favors on people and doing whatever it was a good boss should do, and Gordon was one of the best. When the CSA took over, they should have driven Gordon out of business, but they didn’t because he was a survivor. He found his own way.

“Nothing’s changed,” Gordon said, resting his elbows on the table in front of his water glass and the remains of his dinner. “I helped you get the kid. Now you’re going to question him, and we’re both going to use the information to hit the CSA.”

“I don’t need your help to question him,” Three Face said.

Talon didn’t take a seat. Gordon couldn’t tell whether it was respect or wariness on his part. Gordon squinted up at him.

“Go on, then. Question him. I won’t help.”

Three Face let out an annoyed sound. Gordon smiled at her.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Is there a problem with me hearing you question him?”

“Not at all,” Three Face said coolly.

Gordon turned his attention to Talon, who was watching them both with an unreadable expression. “Let’s get Talon a seat in the back room and we’ll all go chat back there, okay?”

His thugs moved to take Talon away. The boy was surprisingly obedient, which made Gordon a little suspicious. Then again, he was an ex-member of the CSA. Perhaps he held a grudge against Owlman and the others.

“He ran off with my daughter,” Three Face snarled to Gordon as soon as Talon disappeared into the back of the restaurant with Gordon’s men. “I wanted some time to…talk to him about that.”

“Maybe later. I’ve got a business to run, here.” Gordon stood up from his table. “Shall we?”

Three Face got to her feet as well and accompanied him through the restaurant to the back. Gordon nodded to his customers as he went. One of his men held the door to the kitchens open for him.

They had tied Talon to a chair in the middle of the store room, where the frozen ingredients for the pizzas were kept. Talon sat with his hands tied behind his back, his legs tied to the legs of the chair. His breath fogged the air when he breathed out. Most of the people that Gordon did this to showed fear or anxiety, but Talon just sat there, waiting.

“Here you go,” Gordon said gesturing grandly to Talon. “Question away. I’ll try not to interfere.” He leaned against the wall by the door, tucking his hands into his armpits to keep them warm.

Three Face gave Talon a long look. It was hard to say what sort of message she was conveying with that. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“You know where the CSA spend their time,” she said. “Or at least, you know where they spent their time a year ago.”

“They haven’t moved,” Talon said calmly.

“Where are they?”

“I told you, I’m not going to give you that information until you turn most of the bomb in to the police.”

“Afraid that I’m going to wipe this city off the map?”

“That’s what your family’s afraid of.”

“You don’t know my family.”

“I had dinner with Duela and the Riddler and the Jokester and his friend earlier today,” Talon said. “We talked about you. They seemed to think that you would want to use the bomb to wipe out the whole city.”

“My family thought that I was going to try to kill them?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound like them.”

“I can tell you where their apartment is, if you don’t believe me.” He glanced towards Gordon. “It doesn’t matter, because they’re all in jail now. They won’t be back there for a while. Not until you turn yourself in.”

“I’m not turning myself in,” Three Face said. “Not until the CSA is destroyed. Maybe the jail is a safe place for them.”

“Duela is pregnant.”

“I still don’t believe you, but go on and keep saying it if you want.”

“They live next to a laundromat and two blocks down from a Thai food restaurant. The Riddler wears a white mask and has burns underneath. He sits in his bed with his computers so he can communicate with the world. He’s going through chemotherapy.”

“Okay, enough,” Three Face said. “That’s enough.” She actually looked startled, and she sent a glance at Boss Gordon, who said nothing.

“Is that enough proof for you? I met them. We talked.”

“It doesn’t necessarily follow that they said I would kill them, or that Duela is even alive.” She frowned, although she didn’t quite sound as if she believed what she was saying.

“I’m not telling you the location of the CSA headquarters until you turn the bomb over to the police.”

“You were a member of the CSA,” Gordon said, stepping away from the wall. “But you wouldn’t mind giving them up?”

Three Face shot him an annoyed look, which Gordon ignored.

Talon looked at him firmly. “I have no loyalty to them.”

“Why not?”

“You think I actually like them? It was business. There was nothing else to it. When I left with Duela, I left all of that behind. They would kill me if they saw me again.”

“That’s not the same as wanting to kill them.”

Talon met Gordon’s gaze. There was hard emotion there. “They tried to kill my girlfriend’s family, and they used me to do it. I’m not sentimental. I’ll help you kill them all as long as Duela isn’t in any danger.”

Three Face was looking at Talon with suspicion, obviously not believing much of what Talon was saying. Gordon didn’t blame her. This was a very different young man from the Talon that he had known a while ago, who seemed like Owlman’s perfect apprentice. Yet he looked serious.

“Which police are you going to turn the bomb over to?” Gordon asked him. “The ones who report to the CSA or the ones who report to Wayne? I don’t think any of us would be well off in either case.”

“The US government was the one who owned the bomb in the first place. It won’t change things to give it back to them.”

“So I’m going to disassemble the bomb, bring most of it to the US government while keeping the rest of it, and then you’re going to tell me where the headquarters are? I can’t help but think that you’re playing for time,” Three Face said.

“I have time,” Talon said with a shrug. “Everyone is in jail. They’re not going anywhere. Wayne isn’t going to let anyone out before he catches you, since he believes you’re all working together. It’ll be pretty hard on Eddie, though. I wonder if they’ll let Ducard in to him to give him his chemotherapy treatments, or if they’ll try to find someone else.”

Three Face seemed to hesitate. Gordon glanced at her, then at Talon. “I guess we haven’t impressed upon you enough the severity of your situation,” he said, gesturing to one of his thugs. They handed him a length of chain and he slowly wrapped it around his fist. “We’re not going to wait around for you to decide when it’s time to tell us.”

Talon completely ignored the chain, which was impressive. “I could tell you about it, as long as you promise not to tell Three Face,” he said.

Three Face looked surprised. Gordon raised his eyebrows.

“Why is that?”

“I know that you’re not going to try to destroy all of Gotham, for one.”

Gordon smiled. “No one wants to destroy Gotham. We just want to take out the CSA. It’s a mutually beneficial agreement here. We’ve united against a common enemy. We don’t need to destroy all of Gotham to do that. What a waste.”

“I don’t care what your deal is. Three Face isn’t going to stick to it,” Talon said. His voice was so perfectly reasonable. Not too many people could sit in that chair and use that voice. Gordon’s estimation of Talon and, by extension, Owlman, went up a few notches.

“You seem convinced, but I don’t see your reasoning behind it,” Gordon said, waiting patiently. Three Face looked uncomfortable.

“If this were just an attack on the CSA, the rest of her family would be here helping her. They’ve all been fighting the CSA for years. They’re not going to sit down while she goes off and does the attack all on her own. No, they would be with her, and they would have done it already. But they’re not, because they don’t think that she just wants to kill the CSA. They know that she wants to take out the entire city, and they don’t want her to do that. Hell, they were trying to figure out a way to stop her. If anyone knows Three Face’s intentions, it would be them.”

Gordon rubbed at his chin, glancing towards Three Face. She glared back at him, daring him to say something.

“We’re not going to give the bomb to the police,” Gordon said finally.

Three Face lit up in triumph. Talon stared at them expressionlessly..

“I am going to give it to my men and we are going to put the majority of the bomb somewhere safe, where no one will be able to get at it. It will be protected when we make our attack. I’m not giving that bomb to the police, but I’m not giving it to you either,” he said to Three Face.

Talon perked up, looking vaguely impressed. Three Face compressed her lips in a tight line.

“And I supposed that giving a bomb to you is a good idea,” she said. “Boss Gordon sitting on a bomb. That’s not something I’d like to see.”

“I don’t really care if it makes you uncomfortable,” Gordon said. “I seem to have the superior manpower here.”

Three Face bent her lips down, looking at him, and then nodded. “Fine.” She turned to Talon. “Where’s the headquarters?”

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Talon said in disbelief. “You expect me just to trust your word? How stupid do you think I am? You already tried to pull that in the car on the way over here.”

“We’ll go and have a look at the bomb,” Gordon said affably. “You can watch me lock it away.”

“And that’s so much better. If you give the bomb to the cops, at least I know you won’t be able to get it back when you want it.”

“Do you really think I’m going to want to bomb the whole city?” Gordon asked him dubiously.

“No, but I know she does, and all it takes for her to get it is to put a bullet in your head,” Talon explained reasonably.

“Then what do you suggest?” Three Face said in tight annoyance.

“Let me bomb the place with you,” Talon said. “I want to be there when you set it up, so I know that you’re not going to destroy any part of the city apart from the headquarters.”

“And you’ll lead the police right to us,” Three Face said.

“How? You took the bracelet that they were tracking me with. They don’t know where I am.”

Three Face looked completely unconvinced. Gordon rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“I don’t see the harm,” he said. “I assume you’re not planning on telling us where the headquarters is ahead of time?”

Talon shook his head. Gordon smiled thinly.

“Well, fine, then,” he said. “It sounds reasonable.”

Three Face gave him a startled look. “What? No.”

“Before I remind you again which of us has the control of this situation, let me bring up a few points,” Gordon said. He held up a finger. “We don’t want to destroy the whole city, so the whole bomb doesn’t matter to us.” A second finger. “We will keep Talon under supervision at all times so he can’t communicate with anyone else to turn us in.” A third finger. “This is the simplest way to get what we both want.”

“It has to be a trap,” Three Face said.

Gordon shrugged. “The trap was when they wanted you to talk to him on the street. They didn’t foresee the two of us teaming up. I doubt that they have any plan in place for Talon actually helping us.” He put his hands on his hips. “If you want to discuss your daughter with this young man right now, go ahead. My meal is getting cold.”

One of his men opened the freezer door for him and he stepped through it, sending one last glanced back. Talon was watching Three Face, unperturbed. Three Face glared after Gordon. Gordon gave her a small wave and left.

##

When Thomas had been away from Gotham, he had dreamed about the city at night, remembering tiny corners and niches that he never would have remembered if he’d consciously tried to go back and picture them. He remembered a back alley with betting parlors where men played dice games and smoked endlessly. He remembered a little inlet in the river where the fish were fearless of humans and would approach you in a whole school, circling you curiously. He remembered a dead end street where a couple boys his age had invited him to play a game of basketball with them. He had been in the neighborhood to threaten one of their neighbors into paying up.

Back in Gotham he found himself unable to find the places he had dreamed about. It wasn’t that they weren’t there; it was that he just couldn’t seem to get into Gotham the way he had before. He was a stranger, a tourist, someone who just saw the mask that the city wanted him to see and couldn’t get access to the face was underneath it.

Avoiding Boss Gordon, Thomas took long walks through the city, just watching the people. The people here weren’t fundamentally different than the villagers in Bhutan. The police here were brutal, only rivaled in their brutality by Boss Gordon and the growing CSA. If Thomas were a normal man with a family and a home, he would have taken them far away from Gotham and not looked back, but he was not normal and neither were the people that lived here. Even if they had the ability to leave, they never would. There was something about Gotham that made them stay.

His walks took him through all different parts of the city; down narrow, wealthy streets where the trees grew tall and shadowed the streets and all the houses were unattached single-family estates; where the city catered to the businesspeople and all of the stores closed at six p.m.; where the restaurants and apartment buildings seemed piled up on top of each other, so close that everything was a constant bustle of noise and light. It was in the latter place that he saw a sweet young blond waitress walking home from work one night. He shadowed her, using some of the techniques that Ducard had taught him. It was comforting to slip into the remembered patterns of his training. The bright, crowded streets were different from the silent halls of the temple, but the basics of being invisible were the same. Become part of the scenery. Hide in plain sight.

He followed her back to her apartment and watched her meet a school bus, picking up a young girl from the stop. The little girl was delighted to see her, wrapping her tiny arms around her mother’s waist. Thomas thought of the graveyard and the half-dug hole. He wasn’t a man who understood emotion but he knew the power that love had over people. Losing loved ones was one of the worst thing that could ever happen to people.

##

Standing in the woman’s apartment, Thomas listened to the sound of her refrigerator click on. There were neighbors on both sides of the apartment who would hear it if something happened.

Thomas moved silently to the bedroom and then set himself up inside of her closet, twisting the rope in his hands. He focused on his breathing, his eyes closed, until he heard the door to her apartment open and the woman come in.

Nicole Reese barely struggled when Thomas wrapped the rope around her neck and strangled her unconscious. He tied her hand and foot, then took his time.

##

Commissioner Wayne came home late from work two days later, as he tended to do. Being the police commissioner was a thankless job, especially when one was trying to root out corruption.

Alfred had taken the night off work, which was perfectly find with Wayne. He had an evening planned with Nicole and would rather have privacy.

Halfway up the stairs to the second floor, Wayne found a woman’s shoe. There was blood caked on the toe. He bent to pick it up, then stopped. He looked up the stairs.

A small bloody hand print was on the railing at the very top of the stairs. Wayne felt his breath stopping in his throat. He took the stairs two at a time.

“Nicole?” he shouted at the top of the stairs, looking left and right. There was another shoe halfway down the hall to the bedroom. He went at it at a flat run.

There was a thump in his bedroom. Thomas reached the doorway and stopped, sucking in gulps of air. Nicole was standing with her back to him, her shoulders hunched.

“Nicole?” he said quietly, stepping into the room.

She whipped around with an animal snarl and Thomas let out a strangled shout. Her chest was opened from throat to belly and he could see gleaming wet muscle in the gap. There was blood coming out of her mouth and nose. Her eyes were wild and blank, like a trapped animal. She was holding a knife.

When she came lunging at him, Commissioner Wayne’s brain had trouble processing all the information. They both hit the floor and Nicole tried to stab him in the gut. He managed to deflect the blow but got a deep slice in his hand for his trouble. Nicole let out a scream that chilled him to his bones. He fought her off and tried to get to his feet but she kept coming, and this time when she buried the knife in the meat of his bicep, he drew his gun.

Afterwards, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting for the police to come, the Commissioner stared down at the rivulets of blood running down his arm. Nicole had stopped breathing a while ago and the silence was complete. Even though the room was as far from a back alley as it could possibly get, he felt that he was back there, choking on his own heartbeat. He could see the gun on the floor, lying where he had thrown it. He could see a tiny glass vial, half hidden under Nicole’s leg.

On top of the bureau in the corner of the room, something glinted in the light. Wayne raised his head and stared at it, then got to his feet. He approached the bureau warily as if he was expecting another unpleasant surprise.

It was a boy’s switch blade, covered in blood. He hadn’t seen it in years, not since a lot of the personal belongings of the boys and his wife had gone away to storage. Etched clumsily into the handle was the name THOMAS.

##

It had to do with the world-weariness of the woman, Thomas decided a week later. The waitress he had followed home was someone who had seen the bad of the world and was surviving anyway. She couldn’t be more than twenty-three years old, but she had a seven-year-old daughter and an apartment of her own with two other women, both of whom were separated from abusive husbands. She must have seen the ugly face of Gotham, more than a lot of people did, and yet she was still here, still cheerily greeting the customers at the restaurant, waiting tables and picking up her daughter at the bus stop and living her life. Maybe he wasn’t angry at her specifically when he broke into her apartment and slit the throats of her two roommates when he knew she was still at work, but she was the nearest target for his anger, and he wasn’t picky.

He put the little girl in the bathtub, bound and gagged. He thought about killing her first, maybe putting a bullet in her in front of her mother, but something stopped him.

He wanted to teach the waitress what the face of Gotham was really like. Later, when she was tied up and screaming into her gag and her daughter was crying in the bathroom, Thomas asked her whether she still saw good in people. She couldn’t answer, of course, but he wasn’t really interested in an answer. He was just passing the time.


	15. Chapter 15

They brought Jackie back to a larger cell instead of the same one where they had put him before. Eddie was sitting on a bench at the far wall, his eyes closed, his hands resting in his lap. They had, of course, removed his plastic mask. The bright lights of the room made his scars obscenely obvious.

“How are you doing?” Jackie asked as soon as the cops uncuffed him and left. He sat down next to Eddie on the bench.

“Fine,” Eddie said. It was strange to hear his voice coming out of that face. Jackie had grown used to the mask but this was completely different. “They’ve been perfectly reasonable.”

“They’d better be.” Jackie glanced towards the door. The police had questioned him for a few hours before apparently becoming convinced that Jackie really knew nothing about Three Face’s current location.

The police returned with Duela, who came over to them as soon as they let her go. She stopped in front of them and started pacing furiously.

“Oh, they piss me off so much,” she said. “The things they keep saying…” She executed a full body shudder. “Has anyone seen Jason?”

“No.” Jackie glanced towards the door. “Have you seen Bruce?”

“No.” Duela squeezed down on the bench between the two of them, taking their hands into her own. “I don’t know why they’re wasting so much of their time on us. It’s obvious we don’t know where she is.”

“These are the Commissioner’s men,” Eddie said quietly. “He’s never been a big fan of ours.”

“But he’s Bruce’s dad, right? Sort of, anyway.”

“I don’t think that does us any good,” Jackie said. “Commissioner Wayne never seemed that sentimental to me.”

“No,” Eddie agreed.

Duela carefully laced Jackie and Eddie’s hands together on her lap, then clasped her hands over them. “I couldn’t think of any other place that she might be when they were asking me about it. Where else could she go? Do you think she’s been planning this for a while?”

“I know she’s been planning something for a while,” Eddie said quietly. “But I think it was the riots she was planning with the Joker. I think they thought it would make people more open to the idea of opposing the CSA. Of course, then the people ended up being killed by the CSA, as you saw when you came into town.

“Wow, how successful,” Duela said dryly. “I’m sure that made people want to join in.”

“Actually, it kind of has,” Eddie said. “I mean, not too many people are rushing out to join the protests, but the news is covering it to a far greater extent than it ever would in the past. There was a time when the papers and news stations were too afraid of the CSA to ever report on anything they did, but it seems that people are upset enough about the riots and all the deaths that they’re talking about it.”

A police officer came to the door and glanced in at them, then pulled it open.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, urging them all up to his feet with his nightclub. Jackie got up, helping Eddie get to his feet. The cop pushed them apart.

“No touching,” he said.

Jackie made to protest but Eddie shook his head. They walked in silence into the hall and down to a different doorway.

When Jackie realized that they were going out to a loading dock, he said, “But what about Bruce?”

“He’s already here,” the cop said. There was a van idling in the back of the loading dock. The cop pulled open the door to reveal Bruce siting in the back of the van, his hands cuffed.

“Jason’s not here,” Duela said, her eyes searching the rest of the van.

“Inside,” the cop ordered. They climbed inside. The cop helped Eddie into the van and then shut the door. He thumped the back of the van and the driver put the van into gear.

“Wait, but Jason’s not--” Duela said, turning around with a start.

“He’s not coming,” Bruce said. She looked at him sharply.

“What? Where is he?”

“The Commissioner told me he wanted to draw Three Face out of hiding using him as bait,” Bruce said.

“She’ll kill him,” Duela said in horror. “Didn’t you tell him that?”

“He didn’t seem to care,” Bruce said quietly.

The police van pulled out of the lot and started down the street.

“Where are we going?” Jackie asked.

No one said anything. The driver was on the other side of a mesh cage and paid them no attention.

“Does the Commissioner have some sort of plan?” Jackie asked, looking out the window of the van. “Is he going to use us as bait too?”

Bruce said nothing. They were definitely leaving the police station and heading off into the city in the direction of city hall.

“Hopefully it’s not an execution,” Eddie murmured.

They reached the end of a street and took a left, then a left again into the parking garage of a massively large building. It was something like eighty stories tall and was mostly glass. The driver took them into the garage underneath the building and then pulled to a stop outside of an underground entrance.

“The shipment has arrived,” he said into the receiver. After a minute, two men appeared in the doorways. They were carrying guns.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say this is not associated with the police department,” Jackie said in a low voice.

“Was I right about the execution?” Eddie asked.

Bruce frowned out the window of the van. “I think someone in the CSA just asked for us to be transferred.”

They were escorted into the building and into a large elevator, which immediately began to climb. The buttons of the elevator were all labeled with different businesses and the top twenty buttons were all labeled with the name of a private securities firm. The numbers in the digital display climbed quickly, getting faster and faster as the elevator picked up speed, then slowing again as they began to reach their destination.

The elevator stopped at floor number eighty-five and they were ushered out in a sparsely furnished hallway. They continued down the hall to a door, which one of the men with guns opened with a key card. They were ushered into a bare, featureless room and then left behind, the door locking as it shut.

“They have to be kidding us,” Jackie said. “Is this the CSA? Did they really just bring us into their headquarters? Why would they show us this?”

Duela looked spooked. “They must not be worried that we’ll get a chance to tell anyone,” she said.

“Or they just want us here to talk Three Face down,” Eddie said.

They fell silent. The room held nothing but a table and some chairs. There were no windows in the room and the walls were all painted blank white. It couldn’t have been part of a real securities business. It was too bare for corporate decor.

After five minutes, the door opened again. A woman came into the room. She was wearing a sleek blue business suit with a skirt and tall black heels. Her black hair was draped elegantly over her shoulders. There was a gun in a holster under her suit jacket, if Jackie could tell from the bulge.

Four more men with guns came in behind her. She stopped inside the doorway and smiled thinly.

“Ah, this brings back memories,” Lois Lane said, her gaze flickering over Eddie’s face. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen any fight in you guys.”

No one answered her. Eddie and Jackie were sitting at the table, with Bruce and Duela standing behind them. The woman made a gesture to her men, who waved them to their feet again. Lois smiled.

“You’re going to be our guests for a while,” she said.

##

It wasn’t Eve’s idea to call herself Three Face. To her, there was only one of her, Evelyn Dent, and the others were intruders who had stolen eight months from her and misplaced her daughter.

She was able to figure out where Duela had gone. She called the old school where Duela had gone and eventually was able to find someone who seemed quite pissed off at her, who informed her that she had left Duela at school one day, about a month after the Incident, and was never seen again. Duela had gone into the foster system while they tried to track Evelyn Dent down.

Eve was living two states away by that point. She closed up her apartment and drove back to Gotham and turned herself in, throwing herself on the mercy of the courts. She confessed that she didn’t remember the last eight months, that she suspected there was something wrong with her and she thought she should be committed. The police seemed to agree, and she was voluntarily admitted to the non-criminal wing at Arkham Asylum.

For the next six months, Eve stayed there. The therapists diagnosed her with dissociative identity disorder but her two other personalities refused to front for nearly the entire time she was there, leaving her with the feeling that she was really crazy. Ironically, it would have made her feel better if she had been able to confirm that the other two women in her head were there, but now that they were in hiding she felt that she had made some sort of terrible mistake and she had admitted herself for no reason. Still, the conditions of her sentence meant that she had to get a clean bill of health before she would be allowed custody of Duela again, so she stayed.

“We just want to make sure that you can be there for your daughter,” her therapist told her. “You don’t want something like this to happen again.”

It was absolutely true. She didn’t. And the thought that she might get Duela back and then switch off and forget about her again was terrifying to her. Every time she went to sleep at night she was afraid that she was going to wake up and months would have passed, or years, or maybe she would never wake up again.

It was four months into her sentence that one of the intruders woke for the first time. The therapist had asked her to think back to those days that the man stole from her. Evelyn knew something had happened because that was what the therapists told her, but the only thing she remembered was coming home to find her roommates dead, and even that was a little fuzzy. She couldn’t remember anything after that.

The therapist sat her in the chair and told her to close her eyes and count backwards from ten. They had tried hypnotism before and it hadn’t worked but this time something must have been different because when Eve woke up, it was two days later and she was in her cell again, strapped down. They told her she had attacked the therapist. They told her the therapist was lucky to be alive.

##

Three Face paused on the street corner to look up at the building towering in the sky three blocks south of her. She had passed this building every day on her way to school when she was a kid, and it was so much a part of the Gotham skyline that Gotham would look different without it. Was this truly the CSA headquarters?

“Okay,” one of Boss Gordon’s men was saying. “We’ll head in through the parking garage and take the service elevator to the sixtieth floor and plant the bomb. The last business in the building closes at seven, so everyone but the cleaning staff, the security guards and the CSA should be in there after hours.”

Three Face shrugged. “Necessary casualties,” she said, still looking up at the topmost windows glinting in the last of the setting sun. It was still daylight up there.

Talon squinted up at the building too. “They’ve got security cameras on a separate loop from the regular building security. I know how to take it out, but as soon as it goes out, they’ll know something’s up.”

Three Face lowered her head to look at him. “And you won’t let them know that we’re here,” she said, laying on the sarcasm.

Talon glanced back at her, his expression serious. “No. And no, you won’t be able to figure out how to disable the security system without me.”

Three Face snorted and looked up again. “Figures,” she said.

Gordon had given her five men and, of course, Talon to help her on this mission. He had given Three Face one small sphere of the bomb to do with as she wanted. He had kept the rest for himself, leaving it locked in the freezer at his restaurant.

“It’ll take out everything within a quarter mile of the bomb,” Talon said, looking all around them.

“Up there, it’ll be mostly air,” Three Face said. “And only the few buildings around it. This isn’t a tourist area. There may be a few dozen casualties. The CSA killed more during the riots.”

“The riots that you started,” Talon said.

She shrugged and turned to Boss Gordon’s man, who she vaguely remembered was named Adams. “We’ll go in at seven. That gives us an hour to take down the security system.”

Adams nodded and headed back to the van. Three Face inhaled, looking up at the building one last time. This time tomorrow, it wouldn’t be blighting the skyline anymore. She wondered what a Gotham free of the CSA would be like.

##

Ducard had told him that deception and theatricality were powerful tools, and so Thomas thought of an owl. Not theatrical, no, but certainly impressive when it swooped in for the kill. Owls had been with him his whole life, trailing him through all of his life events.

Boss Gordon was in his take-out grinder place when Thomas sought him out. The man liked to eat, and he always found sitting in one of his restaurants, chatting with his men and reigning over Gotham from his seat. He kept out of sight of the windows so no one could do a drive-by, and his men were all around the building, keeping people from running in and causing trouble.

Thomas waited until it was dark out before he slipped into the kitchen, neutralizing the cooks but not killing them. He was not there to make enemies. Yet, anyway.

When Gordon’s current supplicant left the restaurant, leaving Gordon temporarily alone, Thomas slid into the seat across from Gordon. The man jerked back, looking at Thomas in surprise, his hand reaching for his gun.

“You don’t remember me?” Thomas asked.

Gordon hesitated and then a smile began to creep across his face. “My Tommy-boy? Is that really you?”

Thomas surveyed him steadily. “You’re losing your grip on Gotham.”

Gordon’s smile sagged. “It _is_ you,” he said flatly. He settled in his chair, apparently relaxing in Thomas’s presence. “Business isn’t exactly going as usual, if that’s what you mean.”

“I heard the Crime Society of America is taking over your territory.”

“They are,” Gordon said with a nod. “I’m having trouble with them. I need to work on it.”

“Do you still have my territory?”

“Where have you been, anyway? It’s been, what, seven years? I figured you were dead.”

“I was getting ready.”

Gordon looked him up and down, frowning. “Alright. Johnson’s got the territory now, but I’m not sure if he can handle all that he’s got, especially not against the CSA. I’ll give it to you, and if you can run it well, it’s yours. If you can’t handle it, though, I’m taking it away from you. I can’t afford any embarrassment now.”

“Fine.” Thomas got to his feet.

“You’re welcome,” Gordon said wryly. “You look good, kid. Your vacation must have been good for you.”

##

The territory Gordon gave him was a sixteen block section in the narrows. Thomas patrolled the length of it, pleased. His first order of business was going to be to let everyone know the change in rules, but he wasn’t ready for that. This was going to be his rebirth, his debut. He had to be ready.

The Kevlar body suit was heavy, even with all of Thomas’s training. It wasn’t hard to find the pieces on the black market, where cops made some extra cash by selling off their armor and guns. He assembled them into a full suit. It covered everything but his face and head.

He modified a police riot helmet for his mask, cutting off the face plate and attaching goggles. He had a headset that picked up police scanner frequencies, that he hid behind the metal plate that made up the ears of the costume.

The wings were the hardest, because he actually wanted them to work. Ducard had taught him how an aerial assault was sometimes the most efficient and least expected angle of attack. For the time being, he made due with a length of army parachute, cut to shape. He also had a grappling gun for quick escapes.

He bleached and dyed everything in the hotel bath tub. He wasn’t interested in a dead black costume. If he were going to emulate the owl, he was going to make sure that he went all the way. Right now, his goal was to be noticed.

When it was all assembled, he stood in front of the mirror and surveyed himself. Blue and silver from head to toe. He would be mostly bulletproof. He would invest in a better suit when he started making money from this venture, but for now, everything was ready.

He named himself Owlman.

##

The hand over of power went well. No one put up much of a fuss when Owlman gave them his new set of rules: pay twenty percent of your income on the fifteenth of every month; you only have three warnings before steps will be taken to ensure your payment, and the amount owed will go up with each warning; defaulting on a payment will result in death.

Even though no one seemed too put out by the change, Owlman slaughtered a bodega owner messily as a warning to them all. He wanted to make sure that they knew what the stakes were.

The first round of payments was enough for Owlman to get himself an apartment in the city and move out of the hotel room, even after Gordon’s cut of the money. He settled into a routine for a little while, doing more odd jobs for Gordon and collecting his payments on schedule.

The CSA was also working hard in the city. Owlman only ran into them twice in his first six months. Once, a woman in a form-fitting suit with two guns attempted to take a whole six blocks away from him, telling the store owners that she would protect them from Boss Gordon if they started paying her instead. Owlman lurked on the rooftops on the day she was due to return and, when she got out of her chauffeured car, he dropped down on her from above. She moved before he could hit, whirling on him with a dexterity that impressed him. She seemed shocked to see him, but the surprise quickly turned to amusement. They exchanged a few blows and then she retreated and didn’t come back.

The second time, they waited until Owlman was doing his own rounds. When he came out of a restaurant, automatic gunfire stuttered at him from across the street. He took three bullets to his chest plate before he was able to retreat to an alley and shot his grappling gun up to the roof. From his perch on the seventh floor, he could see the gunmen, who were making their way across the street to find him in the alley, most likely convinced he was badly injured. He shot them from the roof and then dumped their bodies on the edge of CSA territory.

They didn’t bother him very much after that, but he knew that they were keeping their eyes on him. Sometimes he saw people lurking around in his territory, just watching him. They didn’t interfere with his job. He let them be.


	16. Chapter 16

The cells were just barely large enough for a cot, a sink and a toilet. Bruce sat on his cot, looking out the barred door of his cell to Jackie across the way. Duela was in the cell next to Jackie, and Eddie in the cell next to Bruce.

“What now?” Duela asked glumly.

“Let’s just hope Three Face doesn’t get the headquarters location from anyone,” Eddie said. “We’ll end up under the rubble with the rest of the CSA.”

“The Commissioner was going to closely follow Talon and make sure that he ran into Three Face,” Bruce said. “If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to catch her.”

The door opened at the end of the hallway and Ultraman came in, his hands in his pockets. His hair was slicked back except for a loose curl at his forehead. He sauntered down the hall to them and stopped outside of Duela’s cell

“So you’re little Talon’s girlie,” he said, looking her over. “I gotta say, I’m not impressed.”

Bruce saw Jackie get up off his cot and go to the cell door to watch Ultraman. Ultraman seemed amused by the attention.

“I taught that kid everything he knows,” Ultraman said to Duela with a wink.

She rested her elbows on her knees, sitting in the middle of her cot. “Really? Because he told me your _wife_ did.”

The smirk disappeared off Ultraman’s face. “You bitch,” he said, taking the keys from his pocket to unlock her cell door.

“Wait, I thought his wife was fucking Owlman?” Eddie said, leaning on the bars of his own cell door. Ultraman turned his attention to Eddie, slipping his keys back into his pocket.

“Funny, you don’t look like the Riddler,” he said. “You look like someone put your face in a deep fryer.” He laughed and whacked his hand into the bars in front of Eddie’s face. Eddie didn’t flinch.

“Do you think your wife would like me like this?” Eddie continued. “I mean, she seems like a pretty equal opportunity slut around here. Well, for everyone except--”

Ultraman drew his gun from his holster and aimed it directly at Eddie’s face.

“Don’t,” Jackie said quickly, holding the bars of his cell. Eddie trailed off, unable to see the gun in front of him.

“Do you think it will make much of a difference to our plans if I shoot you right now?” Ultraman asked Eddie, his voice low. “We only need one hostage, and I don’t think it matters which one. Three Face seemed a little _equal opportunity_ herself.”

Eddie made no response, his face turned blankly towards Ultraman’s. His hands were still clasped on the bars of the cage.

Ultraman holstered his gun again. “Or maybe you’re just saying this stuff because you want me to put you out of your misery,” he said. “I bet you wish you died when I set you on fire.” He took a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it on.

Eddie licked his lips but didn’t move otherwise. Jackie, Duela and Bruce all watched him, standing at the entrances of their own cells. Ultraman seemed pleased with the extra attention. He shook the flame out, then lit it again.

“Too bad I don’t have any lighter fluid,” he said smugly. He snaked his hand into the cell and grabbed Eddie’s head, yanking him forward so his forehead hit the bars. Ultraman fisted his hand in the remains of Eddie’s hair.

“This should burn, though,” he said. He shot a smirk over his shoulder at Jackie and Duela.

Eddie’s head was tipped down, his lips parted as he breathed shallowly. He didn’t try to pull out of Ultraman’s grip.

“So what was that you said about my wife?” Ultraman asked quietly

“I said she was a whore,” Eddie said.

Ultraman’s mouth twisted and he brought the lighter to Eddie’s hair, which went up in a flash. Eddie yanked out of his grip, dropping down to his knees and clamping his arms over his head, smothering the fire. Ultraman laughed hysterically, watching him put out the flames.

“You look like a hairless rat,” he chortled. “I’m going to have to go get some lighter fluid. You want me to do that?”

Eddie said nothing, breathing harshly. Ultraman continued to laugh, stepping away from the cell door. He glanced back at Jackie and Duela and Bruce and seemed even more amused by the expressions on their faces.

“Oh, you are too fun to play with,” he said. “This is going to be entertaining.” He tucked the lighter back into his pocket and then headed down the hall to the door at the end, shaking his head and laughing to himself.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Jackie asked “Eddie, are you okay?”

Eddie lifted his head, gingerly touching his burnt scalp. “It’s not a bad burn,” he said. He reached down between his knees and picked up a ring of keys.

“Where did you get those?” Jackie asked in surprise.

“I heard him put them in his pocket. He was distracted.” Eddie shrugged and got to his feet. “Here, catch.”

He stuck his hand out between the bars and tossed the keys across the hall to Jackie, who caught them and immediately unlocked the door to his cell. He glanced up and down the hall, then up at the security cameras trained on the cells.

“They’ll figure out we have the keys soon anyway,” he said, opening the door of his cell and stepping out. He unlocked Bruce’s door.

“Quickly, quickly,” Duela said. Jackie unlocked her next, then Eddie.

Bruce went quickly to the end of the hall where Ultraman had disappeared, putting his ear to the door to listen for any sounds. There was no other exit from the hallway. He glanced over his shoulder at them, then tried the handle. The door creaked open.

“This way,” he said, stepping into the hall.

The hall beyond was empty and stretched in both directions. Bruce glanced both ways and then randomly chose left. The others followed him, moving quietly down the hall to the end.

Sunlight came from ahead. Bruce stopped abruptly at the end of the hall, where it intersected another. Floor to ceiling windows stretched the length of this new hall, showing them a panorama of the city stretched out far below them. The buildings were all lost under a haze of humidity and smog.

One end of this hall seemed to curve away around the edge of the building, while the other end stopped abruptly with a set of doors.

“We need to find an elevator,” Bruce murmured.

“To the right,” Eddie said. Bruce glanced back at him, then understood. Eddie was holding Jackie’s arm for guidance but must have memorized the directions on their way inside.

They went to the right, down where the hallway curved. Bruce slowed at the curve, careful to listen for anyone approaching. The four of them all moved silently, even Jackie with his limp, which was likely a side effect of their sneaky lifestyle. It certainly made sneaking around easier.

Bruce rounded the corner just as an armed guard stepped out of the doorway ahead of them. Bruce stayed back, holding up his hand to stop the others from coming forward. They melted back into the hallway as the guard started in their direction.

“Back the way we came,” Bruce whispered urgently. They started back the way they had come, hurrying. Instead of turning down the hallway where the cells were, Bruce kept going straight until he reached the doors at the end of the hall. He tried the handle, then pushed it open.

It was a conference room with more windows and a round table surrounded by chairs. It wouldn’t have been out of place in Wayne Enterprises. They all stepped inside and shut the door behind themselves. Bruce stayed at the door, peering out through the small window to see the guard round the corner and start in their direction. He could either take a left towards the cells or come straight and come into this room. Either case was a bad idea.

Bruce looked around frantically for a weapon. “I’m going to need something to attack him with,” he whispered. Duela squatted down and started untying her shoes. She yanked out the laces and tossed them to him. He gave her a grateful look and turned back to the door.

The guard turned left, toward the cells. As soon as he disappeared around the corner, Bruce opened the door and slipped out, hurrying down the hall. He reached the corner and peered around it.

The guard was just about to the door leading into the cells. As he reached for the door handle, Bruce darted forward and looped the shoelaces around the man’s neck, yanking them tight. The guard flailed, letting out a strangled groan. He thrashed around for a bit but Bruce hung on until the man finally sagged. Bruce let him down to the floor.

“Let’s put him in one of the cells,” Jackie said behind him. Bruce started in surprise and Jackie gave him an apologetic look. He grabbed the man’s feet and Bruce took his shoulder, carrying him carefully into the room with the cells. They locked him in one and then retreated.

They all made their way back down the hall to the curve in the hallway where they had been before and rounded it. There was no one there this time. The room that the guard had come out of was closed. They reached the elevator. Bruce thumbed the button.

“I never thought I’d be inside their headquarters,” Duela said in a very low voice. “And not be doing something about it.”

“Something like what?” Jackie asked. “Sabotage?”

“If only Three Face had left the bomb with us,” Duela said darkly.

“There’s someone coming,” Eddie said, his head turned to the end of the hall. Bruce glanced up at the elevator numbers. The elevator was only on the fifty-first floor. It would take forever to get here.

The hallway continued on to a sharp L turn at the end. They hurried down to the L turn, but when Bruce peered around the corner, he saw two men standing fifty feet down the hall, talking quietly.

“Wait by the elevator,” he said, heading back towards the curve in the corridor where the newcomer was going to show up.

“He’ll have a gun,” Jackie said urgently.

“I won’t let him get to it.” Bruce flattened himself to the wall.

The man who came around the corridor didn’t have any time to even change his expression before Bruce punched him in the face. He reeled back, holding his nose, and Bruce followed up his attack with a punch to the gut. The man doubled over and Bruce forced him to the floor, taking his gun from the holster.

“Now we have a gun,” he said.

“Help,” the man said in a strangled shout. Bruce hit him again but it was too late. Footsteps were running down the hall from the two men that had been standing there talking.

Duela met the first one with a spinning kick to the groin, stopping him in his tracks. The second had his gun raised. Jackie shoulder checked him, slamming him into the wall of glass windows and forcing his gun arm down to point at the floor. Bruce advanced on him with the gun.

“Drop the gun!” he shouted at the man, who fired a bullet into the floor. Jackie slammed the man’s hand into the window twice and the man let go of it. Bruce grabbed it and retreated.

Duela had the gun of the other man, who was vomiting on the floor. She checked the clip.

“Now we all have guns,” she said.

Bruce tossed the second gun to Jackie. There were more footsteps running down the hall towards them. The elevator dinged.

“Into the elevator,” Bruce said urgently.

The elevator doors opened and Ultraman stepped out, looking mildly annoyed. Duela recoiled away from the elevator with a shout and Jackie turned. Ultraman, startled, reached for his gun.

Jackie grabbed Duela out of the way and pushed her towards a closed door set in the wall. She shoved the door open and they stumbled into the stairwell.

Behind them there was a sputter of gunfire and then a man’s pained grunt.

“Start running,” Jackie said, turning back to the hallway.

Eddie appeared in the doorway. Jackie grabbed him and guided his hand to the railing.

“Stairs,” he explained shortly. Duela took Eddie’s elbow. Jackie returned to the doorway where Bruce was fighting Ultraman hand-to-hand. The gun was lying on the floor next to the window. Two men were just rounding the corner, sighting on Bruce and Ultraman but holding back. Jackie slammed into one of them, knocking him into the next, who hit the window. They all collapsed into a heap and Jackie grabbed Ultraman’s abandoned gun. He slammed the butt of it into the temple of the nearest man, who slumped. The other one started to draw his own gun and Jackie shot him in the leg, then confiscated both their guns, flinging them away.

Ultraman threw Bruce into the window and this time it cracked. Bruce drove his head into Ultraman’s sternum and slammed his fist into the man’s gut again and again while Ultraman rained blows on his back. Jackie struggled back to his feet, holding the gun.

Duela grabbed a fire extinguisher from a niche in the wall and swung it at Ultraman. It glanced off the back of his head. He turned to her, swinging a fist at her face, and Bruce shoved her out of the way. She fell on her ass.

“It’s hard to fight when you all keep treating me like a little girl,” she snarled, lashing out with the fire extinguisher at Ultraman’s ankle. It cracked into the bone and he let a noise out through his teeth.

“Get out of here,” Bruce replied. Ultraman gave a wheezing laugh and then ducked to avoid Bruce’s hit.

“Yeah, wait your turn, girlie. I’ll take care of you next.”

Duela got to her feet and hit him with the fire extinguisher again, this time in the side of the head. He cursed and turned on her again. Bruce used the distraction to get an arm around Ultraman’s neck and yank him backwards.

“There are more people coming,” Jackie said, hearing more footsteps coming down the hall.

“I said get out of here,” Bruce said more urgently. “I can’t hold him off for long.”

“Get out of the way,” Jackie said, aiming at Ultraman.

Bruce glanced at him and saw the gun. “No,” he said.

“Get out of the way.”

“Get out of here.”

Ultraman drove his elbow into Bruce’s gut and twisted free of his arm. He bared his teeth at Jackie in a wild smile. “You going to shoot me?”

“Dad, come on,” Duela said.

Jackie fixed his gaze on Ultraman’s smirk and started to pull the trigger. Bruce shoved Ultraman into the wall and the shot hit the window behind them both.

“Run!” Bruce shouted and this time Jackie ran for the stairwell. Duela came after him.

Eddie was at the landing one flight down. Jackie grabbed the railing and started down the steps, wincing.

“Is he coming?” Jackie asked.

“Yeah,” Duela said. Gunfire splattered into the far wall and Jackie ducked. Duela moved sideways across the landing, out of the doorway.

Something clinked into the top of the stairwell and then began rolling down the steps, bouncing. Jackie caught a glimpse of a hand grenade and then he was running down the steps as fast as he could, heading for Eddie. Six steps down his knee twisted, exploding in pain, and he threw himself down the last of the steps as the grenade went off.

It tore through the stairs and ceiling with an explosion so loud that it shook Jackie’s bones. Duela screamed above him, still at the top of the stairs. Jackie rolled onto his back, looking up the stairs.

Duela was at the top, pressed against the wall beside the door. There was a hole in the stairs. The railing was bowed outward.

“Dad?” Duela shouted, sounding as if she was coming from very far away.

“I’m okay,” Jackie shouted back, rubbing at his ears. His knee begged to differ.

Bruce appeared in the doorway and looked down at them, then over at Duela. He grabbed her arm.

“We’ll find another way down,” he shouted. He and Duela disappeared out the door.

Eddie had stopped halfway down the next flight, his face tilted up towards them. Jackie rolled onto his hands and one knee and struggled to his feet. His knee didn’t want to support his weight.

“You’re hurt,” Eddie said.

“Just twisted my knee,” Jackie said as casually as he could. There was more shouting and gunfire up in the hallway and he hoped Bruce and Duela were safe. He used the railing to gain his balance and gave a hop-step to the top of the next flight.

Eddie turned his head in the direction of the door at the next landing. “More people are coming,” he said.

Jackie hopped down a step, then gritted his teeth and did another. He had shoved the gun in the waistband of his pants, where it was threatening to fall out with each jump, but he couldn’t hold it in his hands because he was using both hands for the railing.

Eddie reached the landing and pressed himself against the wall next to the door. Jackie sat down on the next step and then slid down step by step on his butt, pulling himself along with his hands on the railing. It was humiliating but it did the job.

“They’re coming,” Eddie said quietly. Jackie reached the bottom step and then crawled across the floor to the corner next to Eddie, pulling the gun from his pants. He got to his feet, bracing himself against the wall.

The door slammed open, bouncing off the wall. Three men rushed in, heading for the stairs. Jackie flattened himself to the wall and watched them run up the steps. He grabbed Eddie and pushed him towards the open door, pulling it shut behind himself as they slipped through.

The hall down here was empty of people. Eddie grabbed Jackie’s arm and slung it over his shoulder, supporting him.

“This is the worst escape attempt ever,” Jackie muttered to Eddie as they sidled down the hall. There were footsteps in the stairwell behind the door they had just closed. Jackie tried the handle on the next door they passed and pushed it open. It was a storage room. They went inside and shut the door.

“We might be able to find another elevator,” Jackie whispered to Eddie, listening to footsteps thunder past the door of the closet.

“They’ll be watching the elevators,” Eddie whispered back.

Jackie fell silent, conceding the point. His knee was throbbing with pain. He gingerly stretched it out, holding the kneecap in place with his hands. His breath stopped with the pain. Yeah, this was bad. This was really bad.

“We’ll find a way out,” Eddie said quietly.

##

Thomas’s original instinct had been right; working for Boss Gordon was a suffocating job. He hated having to answer to the man. Of course, Boss Gordon didn’t pay him too much attention after he realized that Owlman was more than capable of taking care of himself, but he was still there in the background, waiting for Owlman’s monthly payments and making sure that profit was maximized.

Gordon also wanted to keep a low profile, staying out of the attention of Commissioner Wayne and his crusade against corruption in the city, but Owlman had no interest in staying quiet. He knew quite well what was good for his business, but he wanted to make sure that his father knew that he was around. Whatever had happened between them was personal now. He knew that Commissioner Wayne was probably feeling the same thing towards him as he felt towards his father.

The thing about keeping your territory happy was that you had to make sure that you didn’t beat them down too often. It was like he was cultivating Stockholm syndrome in his charges. If they obeyed the rules, he would leave them be and make sure no one hurt them. If they transgressed, they would be subject to an immediate reprimand that would let all the others know what the consequences were. It would make the others feel better about obeying him. It made him into a god. He would reward the obedient and smite the recalcitrant. They certainly liked him over his predecessor, who would attack without warning.

That was the key. You had to warn them first. Then it was as if the punishment was their own fault.

Once he had his territory running smoothly, Owlman turned his gaze outward. There were other territories he was interested in. He bordered the CSA on one side, but he wasn’t interested in encroaching on them just yet. He returned to Gordon and asked for more, and Gordon granted him another fourteen blocks.

It was there that he met Jackie.

##

The Last Laugh was a small comedy club on the edge of the narrows. The bathrooms were dirty and the place had a permanent cigarette smoke pall even thought smoking had been banned a few years back. It could get a good crowd together on weekends, although the mid-week acts usually played to an empty house. Big names would never be caught dead in the Last Laugh so they tended to make do with B-list talent or worse.

Jackie called himself an F-lister, and it was a sign of how bad his act was that no one ever disagreed with him. Mikey would let him take the stage on the Tuesday nights when no one was coming by anyway. The signs in the window would be advertising half price chicken wings and fries during happy hour, and below that in tinier letters it would list his act. Sometimes they wouldn’t advertise him at all, in the hopes that it would cause more unsuspecting customers to wander in off the street.

When he wasn’t on the stage, he was clearing tables or washing dishes or sweeping floors, whatever Mikey needed him for. Becca was the only waitress and Evan, the cook (if that was what you could call someone whose sole act of cooking was dumping frozen french fries and chicken tenders and mozzarella sticks in the fryolator when an order came in), never left the kitchen. Sometimes when Evan called in sick to work, Jackie would man the fryolator, and when Becca wasn’t available he would wait on tables, but his own job as occasional comedian was something that no one could take over, probably because everyone else had more dignity than he did.

It was a Monday night, which meant that the place was practically dead. Jackie had swept the floor and wiped down the tables. There were a couple regulars sitting at the bar, casting him wary looks as if they were afraid he would get on stage. Jackie smiled and waved and they turned away.

Mikey came in out of the back room, sending a look over the bar and then coming over to Jackie.

“Don’t think we’re going to get anyone else tonight,” he said, jerking his head towards the regulars. “You can make an early night of it. The rest of us can handle it.”

“Got it,” Jackie said, straightening up from the last table he had been wiping clean. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right.” Mikey turned to the bar to go chat with some of the regulars.

Jackie returned his cleaning rag to the kitchen, then got his jacket and headed back through the front of the club, waving to Becca as he went by. A shadow passed by the window, and then the door jingled and opened just as he reached it.

The man who came in was tall, his head nearly brushing the frame of the door. Or maybe that was just because of ears of his costume, which jutted back in lethal spears. A cloak swirled around him, half-concealing some sort of body armor.

It should have looked comical. It really should have. Jackie found a lot of things funny, and men dressed as birds were definitely on his list, but for some reason laughter was far from his mind. There was something about the costume, or perhaps the way the man carried himself, that made him look lethal. He looked like he could kill you without even noticing it.

Jackie stood frozen in front of the doorway, staring at the man, who stared back. The man’s eyes had an unsettling directness to them. “Where is the owner?” he asked Jackie.

Closer, the guy actually looked Jackie’s age, twenty-five. How someone so young could look so casually violent was beyond Jackie. The man was completely alien to him, like he had wandered in from another world.

Jackie wordlessly turned and pointed to Mikey, who had turned from the bar and was frowning at them. The man in the doorway stepped in, slipping past Jackie. His cloak brushed Jackie’s arm.

Jackie stepped forward to the door, then hesitated and glanced back at the man. As if he knew Jackie was watching, the man looked over his shoulder at him, completely expressionless. For a second, Jackie had chills.

Then the man turned away, heading towards Mikey, and Jackie felt as if he had been released from the spell. Jackie stumbled out the front door to the sidewalk and let the door swing shut behind himself.

##

Looking back, Owlman didn’t know what exactly it was about the Last Laugh that drew him in. Certainly it had no redeeming characteristics. The staff seemed listless and uninteresting. The clientele only went there because it was marginally less bad than their own miserable lives.

Except for Jackie. Owlman knew his name because he had asked the owner. He always liked to know the names of everyone in his territory, just as a way to gain better understanding over the people whose lives were in his hand, but none of them stuck in his head as much as Jackie did. He felt that he never would have even remembered Jackie except for that last second when something had made him look over his shoulder and Jackie had been looking at him, his eyes wide and entranced. It made him think of the waitress and her daughter in the hotel room, with her cheerful smile towards all her customers. The look of someone who had been beaten down and yet kept on interacting with the world. It wasn’t logical.

A year later, when the people in his territory began to grow a little lax in their belief that nothing was going to happen to them, Owlman knew it was time to lay down the law again, and he knew exactly who he was going to target. Mikey of the Last Laugh had fallen behind in his payments again, as he had done in the past, and this time it was the very last straw.

##

They were framed in the window as if they knew he was watching. Mikey was sitting listening to Jackie talk. Jackie was gesturing with his hands, giving some sort of story. Owlman could see Jackie’s name on the sign out in front, saying that he had put on an act tonight.

Owlman shot his grappling hook up in the roof of the building, then leapt into the air and swung at the window, smashing through it and sending shards of glass exploding across the table. The two men threw hands over their faces to shield themselves, ducking out of the way. Owlman landed.

“Mikey,” he snarled, turning towards them. He shot a nasty glance at Jackie. “You know when I said you’d get three warnings about missing a protection payment, Jackie?”

Jackie stared at him in utter shock and didn’t answer. Owlman smiled.

“I lied.”

Mikey cried out that he had the money but Owlman didn’t care. This wasn’t about the money. This was about keeping order.

He took his time with Mikey, using his knife and focusing on non-lethal damage for a while. He had expected Jackie to run screaming from the room, or call the police, or maybe try to fight him off. It was possible that if Jackie had done any of those things, that would have been the end of his interest in the man. But Jackie just sat where he had fallen and watched them, not saying a word. The look of horror on his face transformed to a look of disgust and then, slowly, fascination. It was the last expression Owlman had ever expected to see and that, more than anything, sealed his fate.


	17. Chapter 17

“They’ll be okay,” Bruce said tightly, grabbing Duela’s arm. “We need to find another way down.”

Duela pulled herself out of his grip and settled the gun more steadily in her hand. “I know.”

“Do you know how to handle that?” Bruce asked, glancing nervously at the gun.

“Better than you do,” she said coolly.

Some urgent shouting came suddenly from the ruined stairwell. Bruce and Duela flattened themselves to the wall and looked towards the doorway. It didn’t sound like Eddie or Jackie had been caught.

“Time to go,” Bruce said, slipping down the hallway.

They moved away from the stairwell and elevators. The elevators would be watched by the CSA or their security teams, Bruce knew . If he could get the elevator doors open, they could climb the ladder in the shaft, but there was no way the two of them were going to get the doors open. Maybe, if he still had his old mangler or any of his old Batman equipment.

In a building this large, there had to be another set of stairs, probably a maintenance access route. There were security cameras on the long part of the hallway. Bruce kept his head down, moving quickly. They had no time to try to avoid the cameras.

Footsteps came down the hall ahead of them. Bruce glanced around quickly for any open doors. There was a conference room to their left. He opened the door and shoved Duela inside. She spluttered in affront when he shut the door after her and started striding down the hall towards whoever was approaching.

He didn’t give the man any time to react. As soon as he came around the corner, Bruce wrenched his gun out of his hands and drove it into his nose. The man collapsed with a pained noise, clutching at his face. Bruce hit him again and the man dropped unconscious.

Something whacked him on the back of his head. He whirled around, ducking. Duela stood behind him, holding her gun.

“I could have just shot you in the head, but I didn’t because my dad likes you,” she said, furious. “Don’t try to protect me, asshole.”

“You’re pregnant,” he replied, shoving his stolen gun in the back of his pants.

“And I can still kick more ass than you. Now don’t try that again.” She holstered her gun.

The hallway up ahead ended in double doors. The two of them moved quietly for the doors and then stopped outside them, listening. There were voices inside.

“Sounds like five or six, maybe,” Duela whispered.

“They might be armed,” Bruce replied.

“So am I.”

Bruce pushed the door open just a crack and peered inside.

The room appeared to be used for weapon storage, with gun racks lining the walls. On the far end of the room was another door. Six men were urgently loading weapons. They couldn’t possibly be expecting to go after Bruce and Duela and Jackie and Eddie with those weapons, were they? Or was this for Three Face?

“You get the three on the left,” Duela whispered.

Bruce let the door ease shut. “You’re insane.”

“I take after my father. On the count of three.”

“No.”

“One. Two.” She arched an eyebrow. He pulled the gun out of the back of his pants distastefully.

Duela kicked the door open and started shooting. “Three!”

She shot one of them twice in the chest. Bruce aimed lower, hitting the kneecap of one of the men who was whirling on them. He took two quick steps into the room, ducking behind a table stacked with body armor. Pulling one of the vests off the table, he flung it into the face of the next gunman, then rolled under the table to sweep the legs out from under the third. The man who had taken the body armor to the face batted it away and then spun to find him. Bruce cracked the man’s wrist, tossing the man’s gun away. He drilled his fist into the man’s jaw, dislocating it, and then shoved him into the table of body armor. He turned on the man he had tripped and stomped down on the man’s reaching fingers. His next kick caught the man in the side of the head, dropping him unconscious.

The man with the busted kneecap was yanking a machine gun off a table, snarling. Bruce lunged at him. The gun was too long for a point blank shot. As Bruce punched the man in the throat, the gun let off harmlessly into the ceiling. Bruce’s second hit caught the man in the diaphragm. He wrapped his arm around the man’s neck and squeezed, waiting for him to drop unconscious.

Silence settled in the room. Bruce looked around. Duela’s three men were down and she was picking through the ammunition on a table.

“I didn’t think you were going to cuddle with them,” Duela said without looking in his direction.

“I don’t kill,” Bruce said through gritted teeth.

Duela just shrugged and looked mournfully down at a semi-automatic. “I like these but they go through ammunition like nobody’s business.”

Bruce released the man and got to his feet. “We have to go. People will be coming for us.”

Duela nodded, settling on a handgun and pulling a few extra clips from the table. She shoved the clips in her pocket and went for the door at the other end of the room.

Bruce took two steps after her. The only warning he had was the quietest footstep coming from behind, and then a sharp, tight cord wrapped around his throat. He was yanked backward by someone slightly shorter than himself. The cord twisted tight, instantly cutting off the blood flow to his brain.

“We used to have fun with this cord, didn’t we?” Superwoman breathed in his ear. “Well, I guess that wasn’t you.”

Duela turned back to them, looking startled. She drew her gun again, aiming it at them. Superwoman kept herself neatly behind Bruce. His mouth opened and shut as he tried to gasp for air, but the cord was far too tight. His ears were ringing and his vision was narrowing down.

“You wouldn’t run the risk of shooting him, would you?” Superwoman laughed at Duela.

“If I can make it look like an accident, I’d have no problem with it,” Duela said, pulling the trigger.

Superwoman flung herself away. The bullet clipped the tip of Bruce’s ear and just narrowly avoided Superwoman’s face altogether. The cord went loose as Superwoman let go of it. Bruce sucked in air, dropping to his knees. Duela followed Superwoman with her gun, letting out another shot. Superwoman ducked behind a table and came up with the semi-automatic that Duela had discarded.

Bruce crawled on his hands and knees for the door, still forcing air into his lungs. His head was ringing and blood was pouring down his cheek from his ear. The spray of bullets from the semi slammed into the table over his head. He needed to get to cover.

Duela ducked behind another table, waiting. The semi stammered and went quiet and Superwoman grabbed some more ammo from the table. Duela took the chance to shoot at Superwoman again, forcing her to abandon her position by the ammo table.

Bruce made it to the doorway. The room beyond was dark, and he could see the open door to the maintenance stairs in the far corner. He paused to finally catch his breath, looking back into the weapon room. Duela needed his help.

A cool line of steel pressed against Bruce’s neck, resting lightly on his carotid artery. Someone shifted behind him, breath ghosting over Bruce’s cheek. A hand caught his upper arm and hauled him to his feet.

“Let’s leave the girls to their guns,” the Joker whispered, pulling him towards the stairs.

##

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Superwoman called from behind a table. Unfortunately, Duela had discovered, it was the knife table, and Superwoman seemed to be as adept at knives as she had been with the garrote. One knife was still quivering in the wall over her head.

Duela finished fastening the body armor around herself. She had managed to get behind the table of body armor, which was probably going to extend her life a little longer in this fight. Now she just had to be sure that Superwoman didn’t get to this table. Although honestly, if Duela had to choose, she would rather Superwoman were behind the body armor table than the knife table.

A footstep brushed the floor. Duela rose up over the edge of the table and let out a shot, but Superwoman was already ducking out of sight again. Duela crawled along the length of the table, ejecting the clip in her gun and sliding a new one into place.

There was a man unconscious on the ground here. Duela thought briefly about dispatching him but there were other things she had to worry about right now. She reached the end of the table and peered around it.

Superwoman leapt up onto the table, two pistols in her hands. A shot cracked the floor right next to Duela’s head and she rolled under the table with a clipped-off scream. Superwoman continued shooting through the table, the bullets splintering the plywood. Duela shoved boxes out of the way and scrambled down the length of the table again. She shot up through the table in Superwoman’s direction but didn’t hear any sign that the bullet had found its target. Duela reached the other end of the table and made a break for the next table, throwing herself in a barrel roll through the open space to the shelter of the table. Hey, look. Knives.

Too late, she noticed the wire stretched across the space between the knife table and the next table over. She landed on it hard and heard the grenade pin drop to the floor. She was scrambling away barely a fraction of a second later in blind terror, struggling to get away from the trip wire.

Superwoman’s bullet caught her just over her heart. The body armor absorbed most of the blow but it hit her like a truck and she actually felt her heart stutter in her chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Duela curled up involuntarily on the floor. Getting shot was probably not good for the baby. Neither was being blown up by a grenade. She tried to get up on her knees again to make it to the far door.

Superwoman dropped off the table and landed on top of Duela, straddling her shoulders and pinning her face down to the floor. A pistol barrel pressed into the back of Duela’s head.

“A grenade would kill me too, you moron,” Superwoman said in derision. Duela opened her eyes. There was loud bang and a burst of light behind the table, but no explosion. A stun grenade.

Duela shifted and the knife that she was holding in her fist pressed hard against the inside of Superwoman’s thigh, at the femoral artery.

“I’d like to see you try it with your brains all over the floor,” Superwoman said.

“And I’d kind of like to see you bleed out through your crotch,” Duela said.

Duela felt Superwoman’s weight shift ever so slightly and knew she was about to pull the trigger. Duela bucked up, twisting her face to the side. The gun went off, so loud that even after it stopped she kept hearing it. The bullet slammed into the floor next to Duela’s head. Superwoman narrowly avoided the jab of the knife and the two of them were scrambling away from each other again. Superwoman’s lips moved but Duela couldn’t hear what she might have said.

Duela rolled behind the table with the trip wire again. There was a box here with more of the stun grenades, plus a set of tear gas canisters. Duela grabbed a tear gas canister, pulling the pin and threw it over the table, then made a break for the door at the far end of the room, where Bruce had disappeared. What a coward. She was really going to give him a earful after this.

Tear gas filled the small space shockingly quickly. Bullets chipped the table next to Duela. She couldn’t make it to the door. She ducked to the side and her hand closed over a police baton.

When Superwoman came out of the smoke, Duela slammed the baton into the side of her head. Superwoman dropped like a bag of rocks, the gun falling from her hands. She hit the floor and lay still. Duela pressed a hand over her mouth and panted, her eyes watering. The room was silent again.

Duela disarmed Superwoman and restrained her with her own garrote, then dragged her into the next room, which was dark and less smoky. She left Superwoman in a heap on the floor. If she suffocated in the tear gas, that wasn’t going to be Duela’s problem. Jackie and Eddie were downstairs and she had to find them quickly. She ran.

##

“It’s down,” Talon said. “Let’s go.”

They were in the parking garage of the building, just outside of the underground bank of elevators. There were very few cars left in the lot now that the last businesses were closed for the day.

Three Face got out of the van and the others followed. Car doors slammed. There was a security camera just over the row of elevators, but the light was out on it. Three Face hated to have to trust Talon on this, but she didn’t really have time to make sure that the cameras were really out. Well, she had no intention of letting him live through this evening in any case.

Adams pressed the button for the elevator and the doors slid open. They all stepped inside and Talon hit the button for the sixtieth floor.

The elevator rose swiftly. Three Face drew her gun, facing the elevator doors. There shouldn’t be anyone on the sixtieth floor if things were going well.

The elevator slowed and the stopped. The doors slid open, revealing an empty hallway. A light was on at the end of the hall but otherwise it was dark. The sound of a vacuum cleaner came from an office somewhere on the floor. They all stepped out of the elevator and moved quickly down the hall. Two of Gordon’s men split off to take care of the cleaning crew.

Three Face led the way to an office that her maps told here was at the center of the building. The door was locked but Talon kicked it open. Adams came win with the bomb in a bag on his shoulder. He put it carefully down on the desk.

“Show time,” Three Face said.

##

 

Owlman liked to collect his own payments. It gave the interactions that personal touch. It was hard to get people to fear you by proxy, and he knew that if he wanted the job to be done as perfectly as it required, he couldn’t be sending employees out to collect his money. Not only would he have to pay them and get less of a cut himself, he also would run the risk of them undermining the work he put into cultivating his collection of docile, agreeable charges.

Still, the next time he had to collect money, he found himself looking for some excuse not to go to the Last Laugh. It had nothing to do with the murder of Mikey. There was nothing anyone in this city could do about that murder except perhaps Commissioner Wayne, and Owlman would dearly love to see the man try. No, it was actually that look of fascination he had seen on Jackie’s face when he cut into Mikey that was making him hang back. He didn’t think Jackie was anything like him, enjoying violence, but Jackie seemed to be in a league of his own, capable of anything, and it intrigued Owlman. Intrigued him enough that he didn’t want to see Jackie again. Ostensibly his reasoning was that if Jackie was feeling some sort of belated anger over Mikey’s death, he might attack Owlman, and Owlman would be forced to kill him, and that would be an undesirable outcome. If he gave it a rest for a while, he would be able to let things cool off and avoid taking the risk.

That didn’t really explain why he stopped going to the Last Laugh for the next six months. He just kept finding excuses, getting someone else to collect the money from that particular establishment. It wasn’t until he felt the need to do another murder to keep everyone in line, and then thought nothing of going to collect money at the place afterwards, that he realized that he was avoiding the Last Laugh. The realization made him turn right around and head back to the Last Laugh that afternoon.

It was a bit different from when he had been there last. It was under new management, for one thing, which meant that the furniture had been rearranged and the walls had been given a new coat of paint. There was a new girl behind the bar and a different man sweeping under the tables. Some sad soul was standing on the stage, delivering a monologue to a few Tuesday night drunks. Jackie was not there.

The bartender’s eyes widened as soon as she saw him. “We have your money on schedule,” she blurted out, ringing open the register. Owlman paced to the bar and accepted the envelope of cash, opening it and counting it carefully.

“Where’s Jackie?” he asked when he was sure that all the money was there.

“Who?” The bartender stared at him blankly.

Owlman stared at her. She bit her lip and cut her eyes sideways towards the kitchen door. “I’m new. I don’t know everyone who use to work here.”

“He left,” said the guy with the broom helpfully. “He, uh, got a gig with Gotham Improv. He hasn’t been here in a few months.”

Owlman nodded once and then turned for the door without any further comment. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed, and he didn’t want to know.

##

It was a full two years before Owlman began to pay attention to Jackie again.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the rumors. Of course he had. He prided himself on being completely in tune with Gotham. People were saying that there was a crazy new comedian going around the stand-up circuit, making jokes about Owlman. They called him an attention whore. They called him suicidal. But they kept watching him, and buying tickets to his shows.

Owlman went to see one, once. He bought a ticket and dressed in street clothes and slipped into the back of the theater. All Jackie had on the stage was a microphone and a stool, but he seemed to own the whole stage, bouncing around enthusiastically, talking so fast it would take the audience a second to catch up and get his jokes. He paced back and forth, pausing only when the laughter of the audience threatened to drown out his voice. And they did laugh, even though it had an edge of horror and discomfort to it. By that point, everyone knew who Owlman was. They knew what he was capable was. Owlman wondered if they thought he would storm in and kill Jackie right on stage. Maybe if he were one of Boss Gordon’s men he would arrange a drive-by or a midnight visit to Jackie’s house, but that wasn’t Owlman’s style.

His time with Ducard in Bhutan had taught him that killing someone wasn’t the worst you thing you could do. Death was final. There was no consciousness behind it. He could kill Jackie, and Jackie would be scared up until the instant of his death, but after that there would be nothing. There were so many interesting things you could do to a person that would scar them for life, and it was such a waste to throw it all away by killing him afterwards.

He put it off another week before he went to the alley where the driver kept Jackie’s car so he could make a quick escape after the show. He lazily murdered the driver and then climbed into the back seat, sinking into the leather. For a second it felt like one of his father’s old cars, and he and his father were going for a ride. The memory was so quick and perfectly formed that it took his breath away for a second.

The crowd at the end of the alley grew excited as Jackie appeared. Owlman watched him sign a few autographs and laugh with a few people before letting his manager tug him away towards the car. Owlman transferred his gaze to the manager for a second. She was a small woman in a red suit, with blond hair tied back. She was looking at Jackie with adoring eyes. Owlman closed his hands over his owlarang and waited.

He made sure to remember each detail as it happened. For some reason everything felt new and charged with emotion, as if he had never killed before. When the manager opened the door, he dragged her inside and cut her carelessly, then threw her back at Jackie, who caught her in horror. Owlman bounded out of the car and reveled in the flexing of muscles in his own arm as he drove Jackie’s face into the glass of the car door. He felt the slide of Jackie’s hair in his hand, grown long since he had seen Jackie two years ago in the club.

If he had known what this event would spawn, would he have chosen his words more carefully? Maybe not. If only he had known that this was a christening of sorts, the birth of something new in Gotham.

“Answer me something, you pathetic little weasel. You sad little jokester.”

He watched the broken glass fall to the ground and he lifted his blade high into the air, his shadow falling across Jackie’s face. Jackie looked dazed, blood running from his mouth. He looked nothing like he had in the club when Owlman was carving up Mikey. Then, he had had something almost like a smile on his face. Now he just looked shocked.

“Who’s laughing now?”


	18. Chapter 18

“I brought you a present,” the Joker said.

They were in the stairwell two flights down. The Joker had stopped to fetch a duffel bag from where it had been shoved in a corner of the stairwell. Bruce stood behind him, still rubbing his throat.

“What are you even doing here?” he asked.

The Joker straightened up and shoved the duffel at Bruce. It was heavier than it looked. Bruce let it drop down onto the step and then unzipped it.

“I heard that the CSA had you all transferred and I thought you might need it,” the Joker said.

Bruce stared into the duffel bag, his mouth hanging open. The Batman mask looked back up at him with empty eyes.

“Where did you get this?”

“Do you like it? It suits you.” The Joker was smiling at him, his eyes glittering and dark. Bruce looked up at him and swallowed. It was wrong seeing that kind of look on a face that could be Jackie’s. “Put it on.”

“Why are you doing this?”

The Joker rocked up onto the balls of his feet, still watching Bruce. “They don’t know what heroes are here,” he said. “Those people aren’t _crusaders_. They’re a bunch of broken dolls. They don’t stand a chance against the CSA. Show them what a real hero looks like.”

“I’m not a hero,” Bruce said.

“You can bring them all down.”

Bruce still hesitated, looking up at the Joker. It was true. With this costume on, he could face all of those armed men and win. He lifted up the mask. Batman had been waiting for him for six months now. It was time.

He lifted the whole costume out of the duffel bag and stood up. The Joker leaned against the wall in the stairwell and watched as Bruce changed out of his clothes and into the costume. It was a laborious process. The fabric felt strange and yet familiar against his skin. He touched the mended panels on his stomach, where the suit had been ripped and then he had been shot. His heart was racing a little too quickly and he was sweating.

“Here.” The Joker bent down and picked up a tube of black makeup from the duffel bag. He squirted some onto his fingers and then stepped up close to Bruce. Bruce took a belated step back and the Joker smiled.

“I can do it myself,” Bruce said.

The Joker reached out and rubbed a slick black finger underneath Bruce’s eye. Bruce stayed where he was, watching the Joker focus intently on rubbing the black into the skin around his eyes.

“Good,” the Joker purred, his eyes shifting to meet Bruce’s. “Almost like new.”

Bruce looked down at the mask, the empty eye sockets staring back at him. If there were ghosts in there looking back at him, they were silent for the moment. He hadn’t worn this costume since the day he’d been shot. Things had changed since then.

But there were people to be saved. Taking a breath, he lifted the mask up and pulled it over his head. The Joker’s hands lifted to help him settle it in place and when it was all set, the Joker was still there, too close to him, breath ghosting over Bruce’s mouth.

“We have to go,” he said, taking a step backwards. The Joker followed him, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

“I’m him, you know. Just about. Same book, different edition.”

“You’re not.”

The Joker’s smile grew. “You’re a lot like the other one, too. You want to be in control. You have that _anger_ in you. You both like fucking that clown.” Off Bruce’s look, the Joker burst out laughing. “What do you think they _did_ together in that penthouse? Told war stories?”

Bruce felt something cold kindle in his chest. Fury. But not surprise. After that day six months ago, Bruce had had to put himself together piece by piece, and Jackie had been just as bad. He’d had his suspicions, but never enough to put into actual words.

“There,” the Joker said, watching. “There you are.”

Batman pushed past him, heading for the door to the stairwell. “Let’s go,” he snarled.

##

When the CSA approached Owlman, he was waiting for it. He had been considering joining them for a while. They seemed more his style than Boss Gordon did, and he thought that he might be a good influence on them. They weren’t as organized as they could be and they seemed to have no tactical knowledge. They were leaping at power everywhere they could, but they didn’t seem to have the patience to cultivate it.

Owlman followed their orders to meet in the park. They told him to come alone, but he wasn’t too concerned. He didn’t work with anyone else. He came fully armed, however. He wasn’t taking any chances.

He arrived in the park an hour early and surveyed the area from every angle, checking any spots that could hold snipers or assailants. When he was satisfied, he retreated again until it was time.

No one showed up until fifteen minutes after they were meant to meet, which irritated him. He knew exactly what it meant. They were telling him that they didn’t actually need him. They were gauging his interest. He waited in silence. Finally a woman came sauntering up. She had long dark hair and smoky eyes and tight-fitting clothes. It was the same woman who had tried to take away his territory.

“They say you call yourself Owlman,” she said, approaching him. She looked amused with the name, although he’d heard she called herself Superwoman so she wasn’t really one to talk.

“What do you want?” Owlman asked her, keeping all expression off his face.

“We have been paying attention to you,” she said, not appearing to take offense at his question. “You’re not like Boss Gordon’s other men.”

That was a bit of an understatement, but Owlman said nothing. He just watched her.

She seemed mildly annoyed with his lack of response. She narrowed her eyes.

“We thought you might be interested in working for us,” Superwoman said.

“No.”

Her eyebrows shot up. She had obviously not been expecting that answer.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not interested in working for anyone.”

“You work for Boss Gordon.”

“Because it suits me.”

“Suits you?” She looked startled and even mildly offended. “You are more than Boss Gordon and his pathetic followers. How can you say that job suits you?”

Owlman said nothing and Superwoman curled up her lip, looking disgusted.

“There would of course be room for advancement.”

Owlman shrugged. “I’m not a new recruit. I’m not going to be one of your lackeys.”

Superwoman smiled, looking amused. “No, you would never do that, would you? You’re better than that. Ultraman wants you on our side and so do I. I think he wouldn’t be averse to seeing you come in at the top.”

“Is he your leader?” Owlman asked calmly, although he already knew the answer.

“He thinks he is,” she said off-handedly. “Look, I’m sure I don’t have to explain your options here, right?”

Owlman understood. Even though he had made sure to find a vantage point where snipers would be unable to take him out, he knew that they would not stop until they killed him if he refused them now. He was a threat to them if he wasn’t on their side.

“I would keep my territory,” Owlman said.

“It would become part of the CSA territory, but then you would have influence over all our territories,” Superwoman explained.

“I don’t take orders.”

“That’s too bad, because Ultraman likes to give them.”

Owlman frowned at her. “You wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble to recruit me if you wanted me to be an underling.”

“You don’t understand how we work,” Superwoman said. “There are four of us, but Ultraman is the leader. We all defer to him. You would just be on my level. We aren’t taking you in as a lackey.”

“Fine,” Owlman said.

Superwoman looked relieved. “Good,” she said. “It’s a deal. Come on, we have some talking to do.”

She turned and started walking back to her car without waiting for a response from him. She expected him to jump and follow, which meant she still thought she had the power in this situation. She also seemed not to mind turning her back on Owlman, though she had to know his reputation. That confirmed for Owlman that she had snipers backing her up. They would take out Owlman if he tried anything.

He followed her to the waiting car and they got in. The inside of the chauffeured car was supple leather. Superwoman sat in the seat across from him, her legs stretching out. Her shapely calves were shown off by her high heels. She looked perfectly at home in the limo.

“It will be nice to have some fresh blood in the group,” Superwoman said with a small smile. “I think things might change when you’re here.”

##

Owlman was there the day they burned the Riddler’s house to the ground.

It was he who noticed Talon’s secrecy and uncovered his plan to run away. He had known that the boy was dating Jackie’s daughter Duela for quite some time, but he had let it continue. He knew that Talon was too well trained to let out any key details about CSA information to Duela, and he thought that it may be an important connection to have. In any case, it was best to know people’s weaknesses in case he needed to use it against them some day.

In the days before Talon left, Owlman noticed his personal belongings disappearing. Talon was obviously planning something, and Owlman suspected he knew exactly what the plan was. He kept a close eye on Talon.

Talon knew better than to ask Owlman’s blessing for this move. He was smart enough to know that even a hint of this to anyone would ruin his plans. Once you were in the CSA, you were in it for life. They would kill him before they would let him go.

Owlman watched, and when Talon seemed ready to make his move, he alerted Ultraman and Superwoman. He hated to bring them into this, since Talon was his responsibility and because Ultraman had no concept of stealth or subtlety, but if they were going to take on the Riddler family, he would need them. When Talon left, they followed.

Just as Owlman had suspected, Talon led them to a house in the wealthier section of Gotham. He went to the balcony as if he were going to reenact Romeo and Juliet, although if they were, that would be an awful waste of a death. Owlman wanted to kill the boy himself. He saw Talon climb the balcony and then the curtain twitched aside and Duela met him there with a kiss.

“That’s the place!” Ultraman said gleefully, starting to get out of the car.

“Wait,” Owlman said. “We don’t even know if the rest of them are home. We don’t want to waste an attack.”

Ultraman settled down again, looking mildly annoyed. He had a grenade launcher on his lap that he had been itching to use against someone.

The curtains closed again and Talon remained on the balcony by himself. He looked out over the street, but Owlman had made sure to take one of the lackeys’ cars so Talon wouldn’t recognize it. Talon turned sharply back to the door of the balcony, hinting that there was some movement or sound inside.

“What a sweet little boy,” Superwoman said, amused. “He wants to run away with his love.”

“How long have you known about this?” Ultraman asked Owlman.

Owlman shrugged. “Maybe a year.”

“And you didn’t tell us?”

“I wanted to see how it would develop.”

Ultraman frowned, but then the curtain opened all the way up on the balcony and they could see Duela, her back to them, talking to someone else. Introducing him to the parents, Owlman realized.

Something moved inside the room, someone gesturing sharply. Duela stepped out on the balcony, looking dismayed. Talon took hold of her arm and they climbed over the edge of the balcony. Owlman could see the Jokester coming into the frame of the doorway, and behind him Three Face and the Riddler. They were all home.

“Let’s go!” Ultraman said, getting out of the car. Superwoman and Owlman got out as well. Talon and Duela were down on the ground, heading for a car parked on the side of the road. Ultraman hefted his grenade launcher onto his shoulder.

“Wait,” Owlman started to say, but Ultraman had already pulled the trigger. The grenade whumped out of the barrel and arced across the street to the balcony, bouncing inside. Fire bloomed inside the house. Talon and Duela’s car pulled away down the street.

Ultraman and Superwoman jogged across the street, Superwoman shooting her grappling hook up to the balcony to drag herself up. Owlman cut around the side of the house to the door. He delivered two heavy kicks to it, busting it in. He stepped into an entry way.

There was a shuddering explosion from upstairs. Owlman moved to the stairs and started up. At the top of the stairs, he stopped.

Footsteps ran down the hall downstairs. Owlman turned back to see the Jokester running for the door, apparently having found his way downstairs somewhere else. At the last second, just before he reached the broken door, he glanced back and his eyes locked with Owlman.

Owlman went down one step, his hand going to his gun, but he paused. The Jokester had no weapon; in fact, he wasn’t even wearing his makeup. Something else exploded upstairs, the house shaking. The Jokester grabbed the door and pulled it open but didn’t step through it yet.

Upstairs, the Riddler and Three Face would be dying. Down the street, Duela and Talon would be leaving and they wouldn’t look back, much in the way that Thomas Wayne hadn’t looked back that night his family was killed. The Jokester was alone again, alone as he had been when Owlman had met him six years ago.

 _Life is torture to people who are living in hell,_ Ducard had told him. And that had been the key, hadn’t it? Death was easy. It was living that was hard.

At the age of ten, he had felt awe when he had dissected that cat and held its brain raw on his palm. So small, and yet it had known how to hunt and how to eat and how to mate. Cats killed for play, just like humans did. He was holding the brain of the killer in his hand, he had realized. What miniscule part of the brain gave it that urge? Could you take that part away, or was it like cancer, digging its fingers into the vital parts and hanging on tight?

If they had given Ducard’s serum to Owlman’s little brother after the bullet had turned his brains to mush, would it have grown back the same? Would he be the same little brother? Or would there be a chance of something going wrong? Could you regrow a normal boy as a sociopath?

Could you regrow a sociopath as a normal boy?

There were lights in his eyes, too bright to keep his eyes open. There was beeping. Something had happened, hadn’t it? Memories were murky. There had been a blade, maybe. His blood had gone out of him far too quickly. And then there had been pain--so much pain.

 _Excruciating_ , Ducard had said.

Owlman drew his gun. The Jokester slipped through the door and disappeared. Owlman sighted on the empty doorway for a second, then let his gun arm drop.

##

“Get down,” Jackie hissed, tugging on Eddie. Eddie ducked and Jackie pushed him down behind a desk.

They had made it down two floors since the elevator. It was very slow going, since Jackie could barely walk and Eddie was having trouble navigating the unfamiliar halls. Jackie prayed that Bruce and Duela had already made it out of the building and that they weren’t thinking of coming back in.

The business that technically occupied this space in the CSA headquarters was suspiciously absent. Certainly the company still seemed to be showing a profit, since the CSA was raking in cash from all of the various schemes they had running. But the place had only been set up to look good in case of an investigation.

The door to the room creaked open and someone stepped in. Jackie kept his head down, avoiding the urge to see who it was. He strained his ears to listen if the man made a move.

The man began to walk slowly down an aisle, his footsteps scraping on the floor. Something clinked in his pocket. Jackie closed his hand over the gun in his waistband. He only had four bullets left. He was either going to have to find another weapon or get some ammo somewhere.

The man came closer and then stopped five feet away from the desk. His breathing came evenly. Something metal clanked. Jackie stared at the ceiling, just waiting for a face to appear overhead.

Eddie’s hand tightened on Jackie’s arm and suddenly a gout of flame roared across the desk over their heads, flames licking at Jackie’s face. He recoiled and then scrambled back as Ultraman came around the desk, laughing and holding the flamethrower.

Eddie was on his feet already, dragging Jackie up. Jackie squeezed the trigger, catching Ultraman in the chest, which was of course armored. Shit. That was a bullet wasted.

Ultraman swung his flame thrower up to aim it at them, dialing up the range. It could stretch out to fifteen feet at the longest.

Eddie banged into the desk, trying to maneuver blindly through the maze of office furniture. Jackie turned and took a few unsteady steps, guiding Eddie between the desks. Flame singed the back of his coat and he let out a shout, ripping it off and flinging it away. The jacket smoldered. He swiped at his hair, making sure it was out as he staggered along. Eddie was holding his arm in an iron grip.

“I think I just like making the cripple run,” Ultraman said lazily, moving around the desk and sending more flame over a filing cabinet. “Is that so wrong?”

Jackie hit the door at the far end of the room and shoved it open, pulling Eddie with him. Ultraman vaulted a desk and then jogged after him.

The hallway outside of the room was carpeted in corporate gray and hummed with air conditioning. Eddie’s breathing was coming very fast. He half-dragged Jackie along, running in whichever direction Jackie aimed him. Jackie struggled to keep up. His knee was one solid wall of pain now and it kept popping whenever he tried to put weight on it. He swallowed down the pain. As much as it hurt now, he was pretty sure it would hurt worse if he was _on fire_.

Ultraman’s flame thrower licked the backs of their feet. Jackie danced forward a step, his pant legs smoldering. Eddie let out a sound like a half-sob and picked up speed. Jackie stumbled and fell, slamming to his knees. Eddie pulled him back up to his feet.

“Left,” Jackie gasped, and Eddie turned left, down a side hallway. He didn’t even know where they were headed but he knew they had to get away from Ultraman. The stairs were far behind them, so if they couldn’t circle all the way around the building back to it, they were out of luck.

Ultraman was keeping up with them in easy strides. He adjusted the flame thrower again and then flame was suddenly spraying over them. Eddie let out a scream. Jackie could feel his hair going up in flames and he frantically beat it out, trying to keep staggering forward. Eddie’s shirt was on fire. Jackie yanked it off him, popping the buttons, and flung it back at Ultraman, who just laughed and raised the flame thrower again.

Jackie pushed Eddie sideways into a door. Eddie found the handle and shoved it open, hurrying into the room. Jackie was right on his heels and he slammed the door shut as soon as he was inside, locking it. The door shuddered behind him as Ultraman kicked it.

Eddie’s chest was exposed to view now. There were red marks on his skin and the beginnings of blisters where the shirt had burned him. He was breathing heavily, his cheeks wet.

“We’re in a small room,” Jackie said as the door shuddered behind him again. “A, uh, hospital room.” There was a cot behind Eddie and there seemed to be someone in it. He straightened up off the door and stepped around Eddie.

The hospital bed was occupied. Thomas Wayne, Jr. lay on his back, soft restraints holding him in place. His chest was rising and falling evenly and his eyes were open, fixed on them.

“Jokester,” he said.


	19. Chapter 19

Jackie stared down at the hospital bed. Owlman looked up at him, his eyes clearer than they had been when he saw him last. There was something in there now, something conscious.

Eddie held onto Jackie’s arm, his face turned back towards the door that Ultraman was thumping into. It wouldn’t hold him for long. They were going to have to find some way out of here, or arm themselves with something from the cupboards. But Jackie felt himself frozen in place.

“Is there another exit?” Eddie asked.

“No,” Jackie replied. Owlman flailed in the bed, trying to get his arms free. He struggled to sit up.

“He’s tied down, right?” Eddie commented warily.

“Yeah.”

“How many bullets do you have left in your gun?”

Jackie looked at Eddie, then at Owlman. The thought hadn’t actually occurred to him, to shoot Owlman. Before, he had tried to stop Three Face from torturing him because he was brain damaged, but that didn’t seem to apply anymore.

He took the gun out of his pants and ejected the clip. There were three bullets left.

“Three,” he said.

“I know that you’ve never been enthusiastic about killing people, but I think self defense applies here,” Eddie said, his voice shaky.

He could remember Bruce shoving Ultraman out of the way, trying to keep Jackie from killing him even though Ultraman had no qualms about killing them.

“Bruce isn’t here,” Eddie added as if he could read Jackie’s thoughts.

“I know.” Jackie slapped the clip back in the gun and swallowed. “I can do it.”

The door cracked open, slamming into the wall. Ultraman stayed outside the frame, sending flame into the room. Jackie yanked Eddie out of the way. The bed sheets on the cot went up and Owlman roared, yanking at his restraints and straining to get away from the fire

“Is he trying to kill Owlman?” Jackie asked in disbelief. Eddie flattened himself against the wall, crouching down.

“Shoot him. Put him out of his misery,” Eddie said. Jackie glanced towards the bed. One of Owlman’s arms was engulfed in flames. Jackie grabbed the water pitcher from a side table and flung it at the bed, dousing the flames. The pitcher shattered.

Jackie slid down the wall, sitting in the floor so he wouldn’t have to concentrate on keeping himself upright when he sighted on the door with the gun. Ultraman let another gout of flame into the room, then stepped into the doorway and swung the flame thrower towards them.

Jackie squeezed off two shots in quick succession. He had never been in a gunfight before but it was surprisingly easy to go through all the bullets in a clip without even thinking about it. One of the bullets missed the target, slamming into his armor. The second hit the wall directly over Ultraman’s head.

“Not funny, clown,” he snarled, spraying more flame towards them. Jackie pulled a rolling table over to shield him and Eddie from the fire. He didn’t dare waste the last shot. It was their only hope of survival.

Ultraman ducked back out of sight behind the door again, giving them a moment’s respite from the flame.

“One shot left?” Eddie murmured.

“Yeah.” Jackie looked desperately around the room. There was very little that could be used as a weapon. He crawled along the floor to the space between Owlman’s bed and the wall, then lay down on the floor and aimed his gun under the bed to the doorway. Eddie crawled after him.

Ultraman stepped into the room again, spraying fire towards where they had just been hiding. Jackie let out a breath, aiming on the center of Ultraman’s forehead, and then squeezed the trigger.

Ultraman was already turning his head when Jackie pulled the trigger and the bullet hit him in the cheekbone, shattering the bone and clipping off part of his ear. He let out a startled shout, one of his hands going up to his face. Blood spilled through his fingers.

Jackie cursed and dragged himself to his feet, grabbing the IV stand and swinging it at Ultraman to distract him while he made his way around the end of the bed. Ultraman staggered back and lifted the flame thrower, finger going to the trigger. Jackie grabbed the end of it, forcing it down and feeling his hand instantly blister on the hot metal. Ultraman shoved him away and Jackie caught himself against the wall before he could fall, still holding the end of the flame thrower. Ultraman pulled the trigger and flame poured onto the floor next to them.

Eddie was circling around them, one hand on the wall to guide him. His hand skimmed over the fire alarm pull on the wall and he yanked it.

The alarms began to sound instantly and the sprinklers began to gush water, pouring down on them with punishing force. The flame thrower hissed and spat. Water doused the flames. Jackie let go of the flame thrower, his hand white with blisters.

The water came down so fast and hard that it was difficult to breathe. Ultraman slammed himself bodily into Jackie and they both fell to the floor. Blood was gushing from Ultraman’s cheek and ear. He forced the flame thrower up, trying to get at Jackie’s face. Jackie punched him in the ear and Ultraman grunted in pain.

Ultraman forced the flame thrower up all the way and pressed the barrel against Jackie’s chin. Jackie tried to push it away and Ultraman slammed his knee into Jackie’s injured one. Jackie lost his grip on the flame thrower.

“Eddie!” he shrieked, but Eddie was pressed against the far wall, his face turned towards them, unable to see what was going on.

The blow came out of nowhere. Something smashed into Ultraman’s face, knocking him off of Jackie. The flame thrower clattered away. Jackie rolled onto his side and then looked up and saw Owlman standing over them, already swinging the IV pole for another hit.

Jackie glanced towards the empty cot. One of the restraints had been cut through with a broken piece of glass from the pitcher and the rest hastily undone. Jackie got up onto his hands and one knee and scooted out of the way of Ultraman and Owlman, sloshing through the water on the floor.

“I’m not the enemy, retard!” Ultraman shouted, rolling onto his feet and swinging a punch at Owlman. Owlman easily dodged it and Ultraman looked startled.

Jackie dragged himself to his feet with the help of the cot. Ultraman and Owlman were clear of the doorway. He stumbled to Eddie.

“Is he helping us?” Eddie whispered.

“No idea,” Jackie replied. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He dragged Eddie to the door.

“Not yet,” Owlman roared after them. His voice was hoarse.

Jackie pulled the door open. “Run--” he started to say.

Owlman crossed the room in two strides and grabbed Jackie’s arm, pulling him off balance. Jackie fell down to one knee, his good knee thank god, and Eddie slipped through the door, out of sight.

He had thought that he was scared before but this was something new. This was pure terror. Owlman let go of his arm and looked down at him and neither of them paid attention to Ultraman heading out the door after Eddie.

“You killed me,” Owlman said.

“I’ll do it again,” he said, putting one hand on the wall and trying to lever himself back up to his feet. He failed and sat down hard on his ass, which seemed to diminish the threat. Water pounded down on them.

Owlman dropped down to a squat next to him, his wet hair flattened against his head. He wasn’t wearing his suit, of course, so he looked just like Bruce, except slightly older, with harder lines around the eyes. Whatever had been missing from his gaze before was almost back now.

“I gave you those scars,” Owlman said. He was holding a piece of glass in his hand, probably the same glass that he had used to escape the restraints. At first Jackie thought the comment was a threat, but then he realized that Owlman was looking at him with something almost like curiosity.

Jackie’s eyes fixed on the scar across Owlman’s neck. “I gave you that one.”

“I wanted you to suffer.”

Jackie hesitated, then asked the question that had been bugging him for years. “Why?”

“You kept laughing.”

“At you?”

“After everything, you kept laughing.”

“It’s just the way I am.” Jackie studied him, confused. “That’s why? Because I laughed at it instead of turning into a sociopath like you?”

Owlman didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Maybe it was because he had gotten so used to reading Bruce’s body language, but Jackie could suddenly see Owlman as the man he really was. Just someone who had survived something terrible and tried to make the most of it, like all of them. While Jackie would laugh hysterically if anyone had told him that he had turned out well, the fact was he had turned out better than Thomas had.

And if he looked at it that way, suddenly Thomas didn’t seem to have the same power. Thomas was just as damaged as he was. Jackie had always been the kind of person to stick around his abusers until they pushed him away--despite everything, he’d lived with his father until his father had kicked him out, and he had followed Owlman until Owlman was dead. Maybe it was some self-destructive part of him, but Jackie had always let those people have power over him. But with this realization, suddenly the power was gone. Thomas was just a man, and when it came to men, Jackie had already chosen who he wanted to be with.

Jackie reached out and closed his hand over the glass that Owlman was holding. “Let’s call it even,” he said.

Owlman met his gaze, water running down his face. He let go of the glass and rose to his feet. Jackie tipped his face up, trying to watch him, but the water ran into his eyes. The manic energy that had filled him since he saw Owlman alive in the back of the van was quickly draining out of him, leaving him cold and shivering and quiet again.

##

Eddie stepped into the hallway outside of the room and heard Jackie fall behind him. He half-turned to reenter the room, then paused, hearing quick footstep cross the room. Ultraman. He ran.

He’d had more than a year to get used to being blind, but all of that time had been in the apartment or in Dr. Ducard’s practice. It didn’t help that the water was pouring down in the hallway too, making it hard to hear what was going on.

Eddie touched his hand to the wall and turned right, his other hand out in front of him to keep himself from running into anything. He hurried down the hallway.

“Go on, run,” Ultraman said. His voice sounded a little thick. Blood, probably. He was maybe ten feet behind Eddie.

Eddie’s fingers touched a doorknob. He yanked the door open and stepped into the room, pulling the door shut behind himself and locking it. He couldn’t hear anyone else in the room and the quality of the darkness that he could see against his eyelids told him the lights were off. He waded around the edge of the room as fast as he could, feeling the wall. It was a room just like the one they had been in, with a hospital bed and a shelf with medical supplies, probably in case any of the CSA were injured in a fight.

Eddie ran his hands over the counter, searching for some sort of weapon. All he could find were cotton swabs and rolls of gauze, soaked through with the pouring water from above.

He found the edge of the cot and clambered up on the bed, then stood carefully up and reached for the ceiling. His hands found the plastic casing of the fluorescent lights. He popped the casing free and then tugged the fluorescent tubes out of the light sockets.

Ultraman kicked in the door to the room. It bounced off the wall with a crash.

“Peekaboo,” Ultraman said.

In the darkness, Eddie swung the tubes together at Ultraman’s face. They shattered on impact, too lightweight to do much damage but certainly enough to distract. Ultraman cursed as the glass exploded and Eddie jumped off the bed to put it between the two of them. He hit the floor awkwardly and stumbled but managed to catch himself on the counter. He opened a drawer and closed his hand on a box of syringes.

“Nice trick with the lights but the room isn’t that big,” Ultraman growled. He shoved the cot into Eddie’s knees, slamming him into the cupboard. Eddie struggled to get out from between the cot and the cupboards. Ultraman bounded onto the bed and wrapped an arm around Eddie’s neck, dragging him up onto the cot as well and then flinging him down onto the floor. Eddie hit the floor hard and Ultraman came after him again, kicking him in the gut. Eddie curled up, losing air.

“Do you think you’re actually going to escape or something?” Ultraman asked, straddling Eddie and forcing him onto his back. He thumped his fist into Eddie’s burnt chest and tears of pain came to Eddie’s eyes.

The water was raining down on them, nearly choking Eddie. He didn’t respond.

“First I’m going to beat you unconscious and then I’m going to hunt down your friends,” Ultraman said. “Then I’m going to have your friends watch while I set you on fire, and I’m going to make sure that you don’t survive it this time.”

He drilled his fist into Eddie’s gut and Eddie curled up again, grabbing Ultraman’s arm with weak fingers. Ultraman laughed.

“What has a tiny prick but a hard punch?” Eddie gasped out.

“What?” Ultraman snarled.

“Let’s find out.” Eddie depressed the plunger on the syringe, injecting it into Ultraman’s arm.

Ultraman jerked away, batting at the syringe, which disengaged and clattered to the floor. Eddie felt Ultraman’s weight shift and the air moved as Ultraman’s fist slammed into Eddie’s jaw, snapping Eddie’s head to the side.

“That answers that question,” Eddie coughed, his jaw aching. Ultraman’s weight shifted again and this time Eddie barely had a second to raise his arms before Ultraman tipped forward onto him, sprawling gracelessly.

Eddie pushed Ultraman off him and sat up. The water was still raining down. Ultraman seemed to be completely unconscious. Eddie hesitated, then grumbled to himself as he pushed Ultraman into a sitting position against the bed so he wouldn’t drown.

“I have cancer, you know,” he said to the man’s unconscious form. “I’m going through chemotherapy. And I’m blind.” Satisfied that Ultraman wasn’t going to tip over, he got to his feet. “And I _still_ beat you, you tiny-dicked fuck.”

##

“There,” Three Face said, lifting her hands from the bomb. On its surface, a digital display was counting down the seconds. 14:59, 14:58…

“Let’s get out of here,” Adams said, standing at the door. “I hear police sirens.”

“There’s something going on outside,” another of Gordon’s men said from his perch by the window. “I see people.”

“What kind of people?” Talon asked.

“Lots of them.”

Talon moved to the window. Three Face rose up from the floor and drew her gun. Talon and the man looked out the window at the streets below and Three Face took aim.

“Where did they all come from?” Talon asked in concern. “There must be--”

A shot rang out and everyone in the room flinched. Adams dropped with a shot to the chest and before anyone else could react, police officers were pouring into the room, shouting.

Three Face let her gun drop to the floor and raised her hands, obeying the police officers. Adams seemed down for good. The other four men and Talon were quickly handcuffed and forced to their knees next to Three Face.

“I knew I shouldn’t trust you,” Three Face snapped at Talon. He looked mystified.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” he said.

“He didn’t need to,” came Commissioner Wayne’s voice from the door. Three Face twisted around to glower at the man as he came into the room, looking far too pleased with himself. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A ring hung on a chain around his neck.

“Someone sent a tip to just about every news station and radio in the city, giving the exact location of the CSA headquarters this afternoon,” Wayne said. “There are quite a few angry citizens outside there right now. You should be proud, Three Face. They look like they want to tear this place brick from brick.”

“The Joker,” Three Face growled.

Commissioner Wayne moved to the center of the room, where the bomb was still ticking. “Oh, good,” he said. “You had the good sense to only use one of the bombs. That shouldn’t cause too much damage to the surrounding buildings.” He turned to Three Face and smiled. “I agree with you, incidentally. Wiping this trash out of the city is the best thing we can do for Gotham.”

“Are you going to get the bystanders out of here?” Three Face asked.

“Gaining some sort of conscience, Three Face?” Wayne asked. “Don’t worry. There is a police barricade set up. The only people who will be affected will be the people in the building. I personally plan to be out of here in a minute.”

“And us?” Talon said through gritted teeth.

Wayne glanced at him. “I’m not a monster,” he said. He drew his gun and circled behind one of Gordon’s men. “You won’t feel a thing.”

The man dropped, blood gushing from a hole in his forehead. Wayne stepped up behind the next man, who started trying to twist away. Wayne dispatched him with another clean shot.

“You’re just like your son,” Three Face said to him coldly.

“We’ve each had our influence on the other,” Wayne admitted. The next of Gordon’s men fell, and then Wayne was standing behind Three Face. “Oh, speaking of children, I nearly forgot. You daughter Duela is upstairs. I had the lot of them in custody but the CSA managed to get them transferred here before I could stop them.”

“Duela,” Talon said, going pale.

“No,” Three Face whispered furiously. “She’s not here. She never came back to Gotham. She died.”

“I _told_ you,” Talon said.

“She can’t be alive,” Three Face said.

“She won’t be for long,” Wayne said. “Good night, Evelyn.”


	20. Chapter 20

The batarang hit Wayne’s hand and the gun spun away, hitting the floor and sliding into the far corner of the room. Wayne clutched at his hand and all guns in the room turned towards Batman, who stood still in the doorway of the room.

“Is this your vision for the city?” Batman asked his father, his voice a low growl. He could see the bodies of the other men on the floor, sprawled in pools of blood. They were beyond help. The bomb, on the floor in the center of the room, ticked steadily away. Ten minutes left. Three Face looked as though she couldn’t quite believe that she was still alive. Talon looked relieved.

“We have armor piercing bullets, Bruce,” Wayne said. “We know how to deal with vigilantes here.”

Batman looked at the guns trained on him and suppressed the trickle of fear in his stomach. Batman didn’t feel fear. At the far end of the room, through the other open doorway, he saw quick movement. The Joker was in place. He carefully avoided looking in that direction. Instead, he fixed his glare on his father.

“This is not how you deal with vigilantes,” he said.

“I’m wiping the slate clean here, Bruce,” Wayne said, his voice rational. He rubbed at his hand where the batarang had hit him and kept his gaze fixed on Batman “I know you don’t see it that way because these are your friends, but believe me, Gotham will be better for it.”

“How can it be better?” Batman said, angry despite himself. “You’re a vigilante as much as we are. You’re committing murder for your so-called justice.”

“The difference between you and me is that I have the law on my side.” Wayne jerked a thumb towards Three Face and the movement made the ring on the chain around his neck swing slightly. “I’m getting rid of the terrorists in this city, and that’s worth any price.”

“You’re not getting rid of the terrorists. You’re replacing one set with another. You can’t ever wipe the slate clean, Commissioner. There are always consequences.”

“Gotham needs me.” Wayne said it calmly. Batman had believed that himself, once. He had never realized how crazy it sounded.

“Gotham needs justice,” Batman said. “It doesn’t need people to hold themselves above the law.”

Even as he said it, Batman felt his anger drain away. He didn’t feel pity for his father; not exactly. He felt clarity. It was as if everything had just come together in his head.

Wayne sneered. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“One man alone can’t change the world,” Batman said. “When you try, you start to lose sight of what’s really important. The more you try to save, the less you pay attention to what you’re doing to save it.”

“If he makes a move for the bomb, shoot him,” Wayne said coldly.

The bomb only had eight minutes left. There wouldn’t be enough time to evacuate the entire building. He might be able to defuse it if he got to it, but Wayne’s men would shoot him and then they’d shoot everyone else for good measure.

He could only pray that Jackie and Eddie and Duela were out of the building. But he knew that they wouldn’t leave without him.

He raised his eyes to the ring hanging on the chain around Wayne’s neck. It was unmistakably the ring they had used to come to this universe. There was a brief movement in the doorway again. Batman met the Joker’s gaze.

“I thought I could save the world too,” Batman said. He shifted his weight. “But there are more important things.”

A smoke bomb landed in the center of the room and started spewing smoke. Batman grabbed at the first policeman, driving his elbow into the man’s face. He whirled on the next without even waiting for the first to drop, then shoved Three Face towards the door. The Joker was yanking the chain from Wayne’s neck. Batman’s next giant step brought him face-to-face with the bomb.

The Joker materialized out of the smoke a second later. Batman reached out to him and the Joker reached back, the empty chain dropping to the floor. Then, with barely a sound, they were both gone.

##

They tumbled to the floor of the apartment, still in mid leap. Batman held the bomb tightly in his arms as he hit the ground. The bomb jostled but did not detonate, which was a plus.

The Joker bounced to his feet, his quick gaze taking in the bedroom. He was out the door, heading into the kitchen before Batman could even set the bomb down on the floor. Batman fumbled with the digital display of the bomb, powering down the countdown, and left it there on the floor, running after the Joker.

The Joker was at the knives in the kitchen, weighing a cleaver in his hand. Batman could see his grin just before the knife came spinning at him. Batman knocked it away with his gauntleted forearm and the thing clattered onto the floor.

“Just like old times,” the Joker gasped, launching himself over the counter with another knife clutched in his fist. Batman met him with a fist and the two of them exchanged quick blows. He threw the Joker against the living room wall and then pinned him there, wrenching the knife out of his grasp.

“It’s not like old times” Batman growled. “We’re not going back to that.”

“Why not?” The Joker was grinning, his teeth parted, his breath a little ragged. His tongue darted out to lick the corner of his mouth. “You’re here. I’m here.”

Batman slammed his head forward, mask hitting the Joker in the face. The Joker’s head hit the wall and he laughed through the blood. He shoved all of his weight forward against Batman, knocking him away, and wrenched himself out of Batman’s grip. They spun apart again. Batman retreated to the wall mounted phone and hit the speaker button, then punched the first speed dial.

“Calling for help?” the Joker asked in a disbelieving laugh, pouncing on one of his discarded knives. He started for Batman again, ducking under his swing and trying to get in close with the knife. Batman darted back and then knocked his legs out from under him. The Joker slammed to the ground on his back and Batman pinned him there.

“Ramirez,” Anna answered the phone.

“I have the Joker in my apartment with a bomb. Bring your team,” Batman said.

“Bruce?” Ramirez said, startled. “Is everything o—”

“Quickly,” Batman said.

“Tick, tock,” called the Joker. He slammed his knee upwards into Batman and it was enough to send Batman crashing backwards into an end table next to the armchair. The Joker rolled away.

“Go on, lie to yourself then,” the Joker said, getting to his feet again. Batman got up as well, mirroring him. “You’re a regular man just like the rest of them, is that it? Batman’s just a man in a suit?”

“Yes,” Batman said.

“He’s _not_.” The Joker’s response was angry and immediate. “You’re not and I’m not. We _aren’t like them_. You went for the bomb, didn’t you? Why would you try to sacrifice yourself for that city if you weren’t a hero?”

“That’s what you do for the people you love. You make sacrifices. I didn’t do it to save Gotham. I did it to save Jackie.”

“But you put on the costume.”

“A year ago you wanted to show me that I was just as corruptible as anyone else,” Batman said. “And now you want to tell me that I’m a hero?”

“I wanted to show you what you could _be_ if you stopped putting _limits_ on yourself.”

“What are you trying to prove?” Batman burst out. “That we’re legends? Hero and villain? Symbols? That we’re just going to be fighting each other forever like in some sort of comic book, never learning from our mistakes?”

“You saw that other world,” the Joker growled. “You and me, different and yet exactly the same. It doesn’t matter what our pasts were. We’re always there in the center of everything. Look at us! Everything that could have happened there, and we end up together again!”

“We’re not together again. Batman died six months ago.” Bruce reached up and pulled off his mask. He dropped it to the ground. “The costume is just a tool to do what I need to do. I am just a man in a suit. I can’t save the world on my own.”

“Take it off if you want but you’ll never be rid of Batman,” the Joker said, his eyes studying Bruce’s face. “He’s always going to be there, waiting for you to let him out. You can’t go back to a normal life.”

“I can try.”

“For how long?”

Bruce took a breath and then let it out. “You want us to start over again as if none of that happened. You want me to keep fighting you.” He shook his head. “You can’t wipe the slate clean, Joker. Things change.”

“They don’t have to.” The Joker started to step forward and then froze.

There was a rustle and two SWAT members appeared in the darkened hallway behind the Joker, their guns drawn. The front door opened almost soundlessly, Ramirez slipping in with the key in her hand. Another came in from the fire escape. The Joker twisted around but that was as far as he got.

The taser caught the Joker in the shoulder and he dropped. Two team members were on him instantly, cutting the charge and bundling him up with the clinical professionalism Batman had instilled in them over the months of their training. Bruce watched, unmoving, as they hauled the Joker up.

The Joker tossed his hair out of his face and twisted his head around to find Bruce. “I’ll be waiting,” he gasped out, starting to grin.

Bruce didn’t bother to answer as they took him away. Ramirez crossed the room to Bruce, her expression wary.

“The bomb is in the bedroom,” Bruce said to her before she could say anything. “It’s enough to take out this city block if we’re not careful. We need to get it into safe hands.”

“I can take care of it,” Ramirez said. She holstered her gun. “Where’s Jackie?”

Bruce shook his head briefly. At her look of horror, he bit out, “He’s alive. But not here.”

She nodded slowly, her expression sober, then tactfully turned away. “I have your motorcycle whenever you need it. Just… let me know.”

He nodded, unable to say anything. She hesitated a minute, then went after her team members to collect the bomb.

##

When the door to the interrogation room opened, it brought with it a breath of stale coffee and cigarette smoke. Commissioner Wayne paused for a second in the doorway before entering.

The clown was sitting at the table, looking almost asleep where he was. His leg, newly immobilized, was propped up on the chair next to him. His handcuffed wrists were crossed and resting on the table. One of his hands was thickly bandaged. He didn’t raise his head.

Wayne let the door swing shut behind himself and walked over to the other chair. He sat down with a sigh.

“How do we follow him?” he asked. The sound of his own voice startled him.

“We don’t,” the clown said, raising his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“He has the ring.”

“Then when will he be back?”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

Wayne hesitated. This was a twist that he hadn’t expected. “He’s gone for good?”

The clown didn’t answer but Wayne knew from his expression that it was true. The clown—Jackie—looked like someone had just died. It made Wayne frown. Had they really cared for each other that much?

“He left you behind,” Wayne said ruthlessly.

“I’d rather he be gone than dead.”

“You don’t know that he’s not.”

Jackie gave him a pained look and Wayne felt himself flush. No, it wasn’t that he wanted his son to be dead. It was more that after everything, Bruce had done the right thing. The vigilante had done what Wayne himself wouldn’t. Bruce had had a point.

“Am I free to go?” Jackie asked.

Wayne took a breath and then let it out. He looked at the clown, at the tired lines in his face. This man had loved his son.

“Yes, you’re free,” Wayne said. He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet again. “Your daughter is free as well.”

Jackie reached for his crutches. Wayne stood and watched Jackie get to his feet and then hobble to the door. Jackie raised his eyes to meet Wayne’s gaze before he left the room. Wayne met his gaze and watched him go.

##

“Mom?”

Three Face raised her head abruptly. The holding cell was small and she had been trying to get a few minutes of sleep before they came to question her again.

Duela stood just outside the bars, looking in at her. It had been more than a year since Three Face had seen Duela last. Duela looked harder, more defined, without the kind of baby fat that she had had before. Three Face rose off the cot and crossed the room.

“Duela,” she said, and didn’t know what else to say. She reached through the bars but Duela stayed out of reach.

“Were you going to blow up the city because of me?” Duela asked. Her expression was closed. Three Face drew her hand back in, curling it against her chest as if she had been wounded. She shook her head.

“You were dead. I _knew_ you were dead. I still…” She searched Duela’s face. It was just _so impossible_.

“I’m alive.”

The tears caught in Three Face’s throat, so painful that she couldn’t swallow. “Then why didn’t you come back?”

Duela’s eyes were wet. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.”

“Even if you didn’t know, you should have come back.”

Duela looked down, hugging herself. “I thought you hated me.”

“You were my life.”

“I know, Mom.”

Three Face rested her forehead against the bars, closing her eyes. It was so surreal to have Duela standing here in front of her after everything. She could hear Duela breathing shakily.

“You’re pregnant,” she whispered, opening her eyes again.

“Talon told you?” Duela managed a watery smile. “I am.”

“I made that mistake. I wanted better for you.”

“This is good enough, Mom.”

Three Face nodded and then she was crying. Duela’s face crumpled too and this time she reached through the bars and held Three Face’s hand.

“Don’t leave again,” Three Face said, sucking in a shaky breath. “Stay with us.”

“I’m here,” Duela said, leaning against the bars. “I’m not going anywhere.”

##

The heat of the apartment made it almost impossible to sleep. Bruce lay on his back on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. The monorail ran by overhead, making everything in the room rattle.

The sounds of Gotham went on outside as if he had never left. A siren wailed somewhere. Car horns beeped. A radio played. In the room, a fly buzzed lazily, bumping against the wall. If he hadn’t come back, these things would still be happening. Despite what he had said to the Joker, it wasn’t until this moment that Bruce realized that Batman was well and truly gone. Gotham went on without him. Maybe Gotham had never needed Batman the way Bruce had.

Bruce closed his burning eyes, trying not to see the image of Jackie the last time he had seen him, at the bottom of the stairs after the grenade blast. Obviously injured, and surrounded by enemies, with no one but Eddie to help him. And Duela, what had happened to her? She had been left to fight Superwoman on her own. Had she survived? His split second decision had been to save them, but he didn’t even know if they lived long enough to appreciate it.

No, he couldn’t think about that. He rolled onto his side, curling up. It felt as if something had been torn out of his chest.

 _Love is messy and you can’t handle mess_ , the Joker had told him six months ago, on the night that this whole thing had started. At the time, the Joker had been right. But things had changed, and now there was no way to go back to that man he had been, as much as he might wish it now, to make the pain go away.

He had no idea when he drifted off to sleep, but when Bruce opened his eyes again, light was coming in the window. He rolled over in bed and then sniffed the air. Was that coffee?

Barely a second later he was bounding out of bed, rushing for the bedroom door in nothing but his boxers. He burst out into the living room and then stopped.

Ramirez was just pouring coffee into a cup on the counter. She looked up, startled, and then looked down again, biting her lip.

“I thought you might want some company,” she said. He could hear pity in her voice.

No words would make it past the knot in his throat. Bruce couldn’t move. Ramirez set the coffee pot back under the drip and took a step back.

“I can come back another time,” she said awkwardly. “I’ll just…” Running out of words, she hesitated a second, and then went for the door. She slipped out the door and then shut it behind herself, leaving him alone.

##

The apartment was dark apart from the glow of the computer screens. Jackie stared up at the ceiling, his eyes playing over the shadows cast by the monitors. Eddie was lying next to him on the bed, flipping through the local news stations. Everything was about the arrest of the CSA, the riots outside the secret CSA headquarters, and the rumors of the bomb that could have destroyed them all.

“You know he’s okay,” Eddie said. He wasn’t wearing his mask at the moment. “He’s Batman.”

Jackie let out a snort. “They said that when he was shot, too.”

“And he survived that, right?”

 _He wouldn’t have without me_ , Jackie thought. Maybe it was arrogant to say that, but that didn’t make it untrue.

“We’ll find a way back over there,” Eddie said, his voice softer. “There has to be a way.”

Someone knocked on the door to the apartment. Jackie glanced at Eddie’s monitors, which had automatically switched to a security feed. Dr. Ducard was standing in the hallway.

“It’s Ducard,” Jackie said.

Eddie pressed the button to release the locks and Ducard came in through the kitchen. He squinted into the darkened room.

“Hello again,” Ducard said when he saw Jackie, sounding not the slightest bit embarrassed that he had called the police on Jackie not a full day ago. “Eddie wanted me to come look at your knee.”

Jackie shot a glare at Eddie, who naturally didn’t respond. Ducard hit the light switch on the wall and Jackie struggled to sit up.

“Going to use your magical healing potion on it?” Jackie said sourly.

Ducard hummed noncommittally and circled the bed. Jackie pulled the velcro straps of the brace open to reveal his swollen knee. Ducard probed at it with careful fingers.

“If you have medicine that can cure anything, why not use it?” Jackie asked, in a more even tone of voice. He wasn’t asking for himself.

Ducard glanced briefly at Eddie and then back down at Jackie’s knee. “True, it can cure a lot of things,” Ducard said. “It could cure his burns. It could take care of your knee. But there are always consequences.” He carefully bent Jackie’s knee, his fingers feeling the slide of his kneecap.

“Consequences?”

“Cancer. I was never able to find a way around it.”

“Owlman has cancer, then?”

Ducard nodded, letting Jackie extend his leg again. “He does. With treatment, he will survive it. You can see why I only use it as a last resort. As for you, you’re going to need that surgery you’ve been putting off.”

“So there aren’t any shortcuts?” Jackie asked dryly.

Ducard shook his head and circled the bed to Eddie’s side. “Everything heals in time,” he said. “Even Gotham, I think.”

Jackie lay back down against the pillows, the energy draining out of him. Ducard checked the light burns on Eddie’s head where his hair had burnt away, then stood back.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be back to see you in a few days,” Ducard said. “If you have any trouble in the mean time, feel free to call.”

Jackie raised a listless hand in a wave and Ducard went for the door. In the doorway, he paused, then reached into his pocket. He returned to the bed.

“I nearly forgot,” he said. “When the Joker brought Owlman to me, he left this for me to keep in my wall safe. I thought I would turn it in to the police, but maybe you could make better use of it.”

It was an envelope. Jackie took it from him and turned it over in his hands, not looking up as Ducard let himself out of the apartment. There were no markings on the envelope. Jackie tore open the flap and looked inside.

At first the envelope looked empty, but then Jackie saw something gold nestled in one corner. He reached in and pulled out Owlman’s ring.


	21. Chapter 21

The apartment took a breath of air through its teeth and Bruce Wayne woke up with a gasp.

There was a breeze in the bedroom, coming in the open window. Some time during the night it had started to rain, and the rain was bringing cool air that felt like honey on Bruce’s skin.

“I guess you managed to stop that bomb, huh?”

Bruce jerked up his head. His first blind thought was that it was the Joker sitting next to him on the bed, but no. Jackie had his hands clasped on his stomach, his feet crossed at the ankles, a pillow bunched over his head. He was smiling.

“Oh, sorry, did I startle you?”

“Jackie—” Bruce said, sitting up. “How did you—?”

“I have my ways,” Jackie said mysteriously.

Bruce would think that this was a dream except that it’s too real: the play of cool air on his bare chest, the crumpled sheets under his legs, the sweat on the back of his neck. God, he doesn’t want this to be a dream.

“Your knee,” Bruce said, noticing the brace. “And your hand. What happened?”

“I had a run-in with Ultraman and Owlman,” Jackie said with a shrug.

Owlman. Bruce looked up into Jackie’s face. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Jackie caught his trepidation and frowned. His purple hair was tied back haphazardly, probably tied one-handed.

“The Joker told me…” Bruce started, and then couldn’t finish.

Jackie caught on to his meaning instantly. His eyes slid away for a second, then came back.

“He told you that Owlman and I…” Jackie stopped, looking away again. There were spots of pink in his cheeks. “Owlman raped me.”

Bruce felt his chest clench. He had known it, and yet it still hurt. He reached out for Jackie, resting his hand on Jackie’s brace.

Jackie reached out and covered Bruce’s hand with his own, then took a breath and continued. “I didn’t want to admit that was what it was and so I didn’t tell you. I think I would have rather pretended it was my choice and that I should feel guilty rather than know that it _wasn’t_ my choice and that I was…I don’t know, a victim I guess.”

“If I’d known,” Bruce started, thinking about the gun he had pressed to Owlman’s head, back there in the penthouse.

“Yeah, well.” Jackie shrugged again. “I didn’t want that.”

They were silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of the city as the rain came down. Bruce leaned back against the pillows next to Jackie. Jackie seemed calmer now than he had been in the past few days, more composed. Like the change in the weather, whatever mania he had been in had passed again.

Bruce broke the silence. “The Joker is in jail. I gave the bomb to Ramirez.”

“That’s it, then,” Jackie said. “Mission accomplished.”

“Is everyone okay?”

Jackie nodded. “Three Face and Talon are in jail. The Commissioner is going after Boss Gordon now, because I guess he has the rest of the bombs. Three Face pled guilty, but they’re talking about maybe giving her time in Arkham instead, given her history. If that happens, she’ll probably be out in five years if she can show that she’s improving. Talon’s still a minor so he’ll be out the second he turns eighteen, in about eight months.”

“Eight months? For everything he’s done?”

“They won’t try him as an adult as long as he testifies against the CSA. They’re all in jail now. Superwoman, Ultraman, Owlman, their henchmen. I think the Commissioner might actually be able to keep them there for a while.” Jackie shrugged. “Long enough to do something worthwhile, maybe.”

“My father let you go,” Bruce said.

“I’m free. So is Eddie and Duela.” Jackie chewed his lip.

“Eddie’s okay?”

“As good as he can be.” Jackie looked down at where his hand covered Bruce’s. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Bruce’s hand. “Bruce, I’m going to stay there.”

Bruce looked up at him and Jackie hastily continued.

“Eddie needs me with Three Face gone, and Duela can’t take care of him too well once she has the baby. Without Talon, it’s going to be difficult for Duela. I want to be there for them. They need me.”

“Okay,” Bruce said slowly.

“And I need you.” Jackie swallowed, looking uncertain.

Bruce had always told himself that Gotham needed him, but in truth the only enemies he had ever defended Gotham against were the ones he had created in the first place. Gotham could run without him. Saving the world meant making sacrifices, and he wasn’t qualified to do that. No one had ever given him that responsibility but himself, and taking control of the lives of everyone in this city was tyranny. Bruce had invaded the privacy of the entire population of Gotham through their cell phones in his quest to stop the Joker. His father would have killed a few hundred people to stop the CSA. Would the price have been worth it? That wasn’t his decision to make.

Maybe all Bruce could do was be a part of the lives of the people who really had chosen him.

“Do you think we could keep this place for quick weekend getaways?” Bruce asked, looking up at the ceiling. “I mean, once the baby is born and Talon’s out of prison, that little apartment is going to get crowded.”

Jackie grinned, looking relieved. “This could be our love nest,” he said.

Bruce leaned against him. “Is Eddie expecting you back anytime soon?”

“I told him not to wait up,” Jackie said.

Bruce caught his mouth in a kiss. Last night he thought he would never touch Jackie again, and so if the kiss was a little desperate, well, Bruce was just making sure that Jackie was really there.

The monorail ran overhead, causing the apartment to shake. Jackie’s hands rose to Bruce’s hair, cupping Bruce’s head. He kissed Bruce thoroughly, his eyes shut. The kiss quickly turned desperate, full of tongues and teeth.

Bruce rucked up Jackie’s shirt, then pulled back to lay a kiss on his stomach. “Are you in pain?”

Jackie laughed. “I’m highly medicated. I barely feel it.”

“You don’t feel anything?” Bruce laid a kiss a little lower.

“You’ll have to test me,” Jackie said, then grinned when Bruce unbuttoned his pants. “Well, _that’s_ working.”

He hastily lifted his hips to let Bruce pull his pants down. He was already hard, and so was Bruce. Bruce pulled off his own boxers and then crawled up Jackie’s body again for a kiss. The cool air was heaven on Bruce’s skin.

Jackie swore and bucked up his hips when Bruce grabbed hold of Jackie’s cock in a tight grip.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bruce mumbled in Jackie’s ear, kissing his neck. Jackie’s response was to grab at the bottle of lube on the side table. He squirted some into his hand and took hold of Bruce. Bruce groaned.

“I want you to fuck me,” Jackie whispered, giving Bruce a slow stroke.

“Jesus,” Bruce said. He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed forward into Jackie’s grip, then pulled back. “Are you sure?”

“Love you,” Jackie said. He rolled away from him onto his side, with his back to Bruce.

Bruce kissed Jackie’s neck, then spooned up against Jackie’s back, his hand sliding between Jackie’s legs. Jackie parted his thighs, his good hand reaching down to join Bruce.

Bruce stretched Jackie with his fingers until Jackie swore at him to get a move on. When Bruce rolled on the condom and pressed into him for the first time, he could feel the entire world contract down to the spot where they were joined. Jackie was breathing fast and shallow, one of his hands clutching Bruce’s, but he was urging Bruce on.

When he was all the way inside, Bruce paused, his forehead pressed against the back of Jackie’s head. “Love you too,” he whispered.

Jackie squeezed his hand and Bruce began to move inside of him. Jackie twisted his face around, catching Bruce’s mouth with his own. Bruce’s hand found Jackie’s cock and worked at it until Jackie was clutching at the bed and pushing back against him. Bruce met him with hard thrusts, panting open-mouthed.

Jackie cried out in Bruce’s grip, spilling all over Bruce’s hand and the sheets. Bruce kept going until he couldn’t anymore and lost himself inside Jackie. They collapsed together, gasping. Bruce wrapped his arms around Jackie, feeling his chest heave. He held him tight, pressing his face against Jackie’s neck.

“I thought you were gone forever,” he whispered.

Jackie found Bruce’s hands and laced their fingers together. “I’m here,” he replied.

##

Being inside Arkham was like being inside a giant clock. The room lights turned on at six in the morning on the dot, _tic_ , and they shut off again at nine at night, _toc_.

The lights went out, leaving the Joker in darkness. He could hear the usual noise start up, the inmates reacting to the lights turning out. They’d be shocked by the goddamn _sunset_. As for him, he _liked_ the dark.

He could remember the way the world dissolved around him when he put on the ring. He could remember the way that the citizens of Gotham—the _other_ Gotham—screamed like animals when they got their hands on the CSA headquarters. He could remember Batman putting on his mask in the stairwell before they went in to save the day. He’d had a good run. Next time it’ll be even better.

Right now, everything was shutting down for the night. The sun had set. The nurses were going off duty. The night shift was coming on. Somewhere out there, there was a costume without a body. A hero without a cause. A man without a mission. Somewhere out there, there was a _bat_ without a _mask_.

But it was okay.

The Joker could wait.


End file.
